


a reordering

by wearethewitches



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Accidental Marriage, Aftermath of Violence, Astral Projection, Butterfly Effect, Child Abuse, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dancing, Dark One Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Dimension Travel, Dragons, Español | Spanish, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lily Page is Evil Queen | Regina Mills' Biological Daughter, Loss of Powers, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Magical Artifacts, Man Out of Time, Marian (Once Upon a Time) Lives, Mentor/Protégé, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Murder, Non Canonical Immortal, Non-Linear Narrative, Out of Body Experiences, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Protective Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Recreational Drug Use, Rescue Missions, Resurrection, Rewrite, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings, Slow Burn, Temporal Paradox, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Timeline Shenanigans, Timeline What Timeline, Violence, aka the plot of season 4-7 is mixed up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-04-01 11:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 89,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13997364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: When Emma reacts slightly differently to her brother's naming ceremony, new motions are set in place that has Emma going through the time portal alone - to a different time altogether, to exactly where Zelena wanted to go in the first place: before Regina is even born.On a journey to return Zelena to her proper time, Emma will have to stumble her way through the past, trying to keep a low profile, while also doing her best not to change the timeline...too much, that is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the reordering begins when Prince Neal is named before the time portal is noticed shooting into the sky, sending Emma out alone in the Bug; Killian Jones only gives her the book, he doesn't talk to her or join her; and so on and so forth, Emma going back in time alone to the time where Rumplestiltskin and Cora are in love.

The Bug is cold, her fingers stiff on the wheel.

_Neal. Why did they have to call him Neal?_

Emma loves her brother, despite what little warning she had that she’d be getting a sibling. He’s small and warm and Emma loves her brother – but his name, oh _why Mom?_ Emma breathes in deep and leans her head forwards onto the steering wheel, catching sight of Henry’s Book on her passengers seat, that Hook had given to her before she could rush away inside the Bug.

After a moment where she looks to her buzzing phone and denies a call from David, she reaches out for it, tugging the heavy hardcover onto her lap.

 _Is he in here? Are there any stories in here of him and Rumple, any at all?_ Emma goes to the index, trying to hazard which stories might have Neal and/or Rumplestiltskin in them. To her surprise, the index is bigger than it was when Henry first showed her. _How is that even possible?_ She questions, in her mind.

Titles like, ‘ _Desperate Souls’, ‘Dreamy’, ‘Sympathy for the De Vil’, ‘Where Bluebirds Fly’_ and _‘The Miller’s Daughter’_ catch her eye – but it’s ‘ _The Miller’s Daughter’_ she turns to though, flipping through hundreds of pages until she finds it. _Nothing is ever a coincidence in this town,_ she thinks. _I really hope Regina’s last name means that **she’s** a miller’s daughter. That would be priceless and pretty interesting. Maybe the story’s about how she became queen._

Emma finds the story, hand tracing the large, decorative square that holds the first letter of the first word. She can’t stop thinking of Neal though – Neal Cassidy, Baelfire, Nealfire. Not her brother, Neal. Not Prince Neal, son of Snow White and Prince Charming. She shuts her eyes briefly, thinking of a dreamcatcher hanging in an abandoned NYC apartment, before forcing herself to look at the Book.

“Once upon a time,” she begins, reading about the life of a peasant woman forced to kneel – about _Cora_ and not Regina. Cora, who wishes to marry the prince; Cora, who lies to King Xavier about being able to spin straw to gold; Cora, who meets Rumplestiltskin and – by the sound of it – has a downright steamy affair with him after getting out of her tower.

“Jesus Christ,” Emma makes a face at a particular section describing the months that pass between the engagement and the wedding. According to the Book – _should Henry even be reading this, god he’s only **thirteen** – _ Cora learns what it is to be one of the royal family, learning elegant penmanship and how to address other courtiers; meanwhile, fucking Rumplestiltskin. “I do not want to know this.”

 _Seriously,_ Emma thinks, shutting the Book after Cora describes what she wants to do to King Xavier, Rumplestiltskin agrees to teach her how to take hearts and summarily takes her to bed. _I do not want to hear about Gold’s sex-life,_ she grimaces – but the story has her hooked, in any case. She wants to know what happened to this Xavier dude. Also, if Cora and Rumplestiltskin ever _did_ have a child together – then they wouldn’t be caught off-guard by yet another evil sibling of Regina’s.

That, of course, is when she catches sight of the golden-orange light beaming up into the sky.

“What the hell?” she leans forwards closer to the windshield to see. Alarmed, Emma puts the Bug into gear, Book still on her lap as she drives to what turns out to be Zelena’s plot, listening to David’s voicemail about Zelena’s supposed suicide.

When she arrives, the barn that was supposed to host the spell is a beacon, light escaping the cracks between the wood and the windows as the portal explodes upwards.

“Why is it like that?” Emma mutters to herself, thinking that up-close, the circumference is pretty damn close to how big the carved-out ditches inside were. That, of course, is when the doors blow inwards and Emma is sucked into the portal.

It’s like riding a rollercoaster, like she’s falling from a great height – except there’s nothing to catch her. Emma curls her arms around herself and Henry’s Book, thinking of the story she had just read of Cora kneeling to Xavier and Eva, ducking her head as she spins and spins – until it feels like she’s being swerved to the right and she’s abruptly chucked out, the shock of fresh air hitting her first, but the ground hitting her harder, no matter how wet it is.

“Ugh…” Emma groans, getting to her feet shakily, looking around. A stone falls in her gut, because she recognises where she is, having seen a mosaic-like picture of it earlier, reading Henry’s Book. Her head cranes backwards as she looks up at the mill, the large repairs that had been done to the canvas of the many windmill sails easily visible.

“Who are you? Where did you come from?” a rough voice bites out from behind her. Emma twirls, facing a dirty, swaying old man with his eyes narrowed and a dagger in hand. He raises it menacingly. “How did you appear like that?”

“I-” Emma starts, but she can’t help but stare at this man who she _knows_ is Cora’s father – Regina’s grandfather. She takes a step back, looking around for Cora herself – but there’s a distinct lack of flour cart and there’s shattered pottery to her left. “I need to go.”

“Go!” The man repeats, shouting, stepping forwards with his knife raised. “Get off my property, witch!”

“I’m going!” Emma exclaims, before skirting around him to the road, looking off into the distance to the castle and immediately turning the other way. _I can’t change time,_ she thinks, glancing back at the old man who still looks at her funny as she hurries down the dirt road.

 _I’m in the Enchanted Forest,_ she thinks, _but in the past – before Regina is even born. That’s a **long** time ago. Regina’s what, thirty-five? That, plus the twenty-eight years, she’s gotta be something like sixty-two, sixty-three…_

“Well, not really, but yeah,” Emma muses out loud. She’s at least sixty years in the past, then. She could change a lot without meaning to – all that ‘butterfly flaps its wings in New Mexico and a hurricane happens in China’ stuff. “I’ve got to get back,” she fixes her gloves and coat, tucking the Book under her arm.

 _How can I get back? Rumplestiltskin could help me, but he’s going to be busy tonight._ Emma grimaces at the thought of it, if this really is the night Cora will be trapped in the tower. _I can’t change time. This is the point where any change in direction could result in Regina never being born, the Curse never having been cast – Henry never having existed._ Emma shivers at the thought, before something occurs to her. _That’s what Zelena wanted to happen in the first place. For Regina never to have existed. Good thing she’s dead._

Emma sees someone up the road as she walks sedately, no idea where she’s going. Content they won’t bother her if she doesn’t say anything, Emma keeps on walking – as if she _does_ know wherever the hell it is this road leads to. The person gets closer and closer and Emma barely chances a glance at them.

They’re male and pretty young, maybe about sixteen, shoulder-length hair pulled back into a leather band. He carries wheat in baskets on his back and looks at her oddly, stopping on the road. Emma picks up the pace, eager to get past him and interact with the least amount of people as possible.

“Strange clothes you wear, lady traveller,” he starts, sounding confused and delighted at the same time. Emma catches his eyes glued to her legs and raises an eyebrow, unable to let the action go by without a word.

“It’s the newest fashion. Too many princesses tripping over their skirts trying to get away from perverts. Easier to run in trousers and we can catch them more easily when we’re able to see them staring,” she remarks, watching his reaction carefully.

His expression twists into one of chagrin, his eyes rising and his cheeks turning pink. “Sorry, milady! I shouldn’t have stared!”

“You’re quick,” Emma notes wryly. “Being polite doesn’t cost you anything. You should try it, sometime, when you’re chatting up girls.”

“I will!” he exclaims, suddenly looking excited and strangely like Henry. “Surely, Camila would appreciate decorum in comparison to Raoul’s dirty jokes.”

Emma smiles, laughing a little, “Probably. What’s your name?”

“Micah, milady,” he bows courteously, but the action sends the wheat in the baskets on his back flying. Immediately, Micah looks at the wheat, horrified. “Oh no!” He scrambles to collect it and Emma darts over to help him, gathering the dry stalks in a small bundle as he takes the baskets off his back.

“What do you do with the wheat?” she questions, wondering.

“Make flour,” he states. “I’m the son of our local miller. My other brothers have left us, two seeking to join the King’s Fleet and the other finding love in the town with the butcher’s son. My oldest sister, Madelina, runs a tavern in Cáliz – only my other sister, Cora and I remain to help our father.”

“Cora?” Emma questions, surprised, Micah pausing at her tone.

“Yes,” he replies cautiously, slightly nervous. “You know of her?”

“Well,” Emma starts, “a little. I’ve heard…stories. Rumours.”

Micah’s expression darkens. “Oh. I see. You’ve been through the town. You talk of my sisters child out of wedlock, yes? Well, my sister did the good thing and gave my niece to a family that will be able to love and care for her. She was in love and the father left her with child rather than marry her as is good and proper-”

“Woah, woah!” Emma puts the wheat in his baskets quickly, figuring he’s talking about Zelena – who, despite Micah's story, did _not_  apparently have a happy home-life in Oz. “I’m not judging! My own kid, he’s out of wedlock as well. I gave him up to give him his best chance. Please, I didn’t mean to imply anything offensive or rude.”

Micah still looks at her hesitantly, but nods, standing slowly. Emma joins him, an awkward silence falling, before Micah swings the baskets onto his back, nodding shortly.

“Good day, milady.” He turns to go and Emma feels bad for the boy, reaching out to grab his arm.

“Wait, please. I’m sorry your family has to deal with being the talk of the town. I’m actually lost. My name is...Leia. Do you know where this road leads?”

Micah twists his head back, back straight and his face suspiciously blank. “Thank-you for your kind words, Lady Leia. Following this road will lead you away from King Xavier’s castle and it’s city, through the forest cliffs. Take too many turns to your left will lead you to the high edges. To get to the nearest settlement, Cáliz, follow the road and take a right at the first and second forks and a left at the third. You can buy a horse, there, or passage on a cart to the next-nearest port-town. From there, you can take a boat to King Victor’s land.”

“Thank-you, Micah,” Emma gives a tentative smile. “And good luck with…Camila, was it?”

Micah’s blank expression breaks and he can’t help the small grin. “Camila. Yes. She is my beloved. Good luck on your travels, Lady Leia.”

“Bye.”

“Good afternoon,” he bows only slightly, so as to not spill his wheat again, before returning to his journey home.

 _Regina’s uncle,_ Emma thinks, in retrospect not so surprised that he reminds her of Henry. _Nurture just won a point, in this round. I wonder what happens to him._

Readjusting her grip on the Book, Emma makes her way along the road, committing Micah’s directions to memory and wondering how the hell she’s supposed to survive the Enchanted Forest until it’s safe to summon Rumplestiltskin.

* * *

By the time she reaches ‘Cáliz’, night has fallen. Not many people are walking about, except a few guards, wandering about with torches, chatting quietly and sipping hot drinks from steaming mugs. Emma’s stomach rumbles, but she ignores it out of habit, having gone far longer than a couple of hours without food. She knows she’s conspicuous – she’s wearing jeans, after all – but when she detours around houses to back gardens, all the washing lines are empty.

 _I need to blend in,_ she thinks, though for now, she’s happy to remain in her modern-day clothes. Her grey turtle-neck is warm, at least and she has her gloves. _Those could probably even stay on, even with a disguise – leather gloves could be common enough in the Enchanted Forest, right?_

At one point, she sits down on a handy bench in an alley-way, between what she thinks is a bakery and a pub, dropping the Book onto the bench beside her. Muffled voices and laughter come from behind her and Emma wonders if she should get a job bartending or something – she can’t interfere with Cora’s story, not unless she wants to endanger everything she’s ever known, which means no Rumplestiltskin.

Sighing, Emma looks up as a door into the pub opens, three men stumbling over their own feet as they exit, a fourth being practically thrown out. Emma cranes her neck, looking at the fierce-looking woman in the doorway, glaring at the four.

“And don’t come back until you can pay your tab,” she seemingly finishes, cheeks red, copper curls escaping her high bun, hands on her hips. She looks remarkably like Zelena, especially in her dark green dress and Emma recalls what Micah said to her earlier that day – _his oldest sister runs the tavern in Cáliz_.

The woman spies her watching and raises an eyebrow. “What are you loitering for? I don’t allow prostitutes this side of my establishment – that’s for the other alleyway, by the inn.”

“I’m not a prostitute,” Emma replies, standing, trying to come up with a plausible story. “I’m not from here. I got attacked by thieves on the road. I’m looking for work, until I can contact an acquaintance of mine to help me out.”

The woman raises a disbelieving eyebrow, but eyes her carefully. “You’re not dressed like a whore, at least,” she mutters, before one of the drunkards jeers.

“She’s dressed like a man, though. What are you, lass? One of those fancy lady-bedders, pretending to be a man?” he and his friends snigger, Emma’s hands curling into fists as she steps forwards.

“Say that again, I dare you,” she challenges. _Bisexuality is valid,_ she thinks darkly, before the woman steps over, grabbing her wrist.

“I can give you room and board, if you can help me out in the tavern. I even have a spare dress, if you’d rather look more local.” Emma hesitates, the men – _loudly_ – wondering how many women she’s slept with. “Shut your mouths, boys, before I get you put on the blacklist around town.”

“Madelina,” one of the younger men, the one that had been booted out last, whines at her, “don’t do _that._ ”

“Apologise to the lady and pay your tab before the week’s out and I won’t, Byron,” Madelina orders. “Don’t make me bring your mamas into this, boys.”

The four grumble, but offer apologies, quickly leaving the alleyway. Emma glances at Madelina.

“Thank-you. I’m…Leia,” Emma belatedly remembers the name she gave Micah, hoping her pause wasn’t noticed.

“It’s nothing. I’m Madelina. You won’t get paid for a couple of days, until I see what you can do,” Madelina warns, letting go of her wrist. “Where are you from?”

“A town called Storybrooke,” Emma replies, knowing Madelina won’t know where that is. The woman, predictably, frowns.

“I’ve no idea where that is,” she admits, “but you speak Common Northern. A lot of this town speaks that, but most mainly speak in Low Southern. Do you speak it, too?”

Emma feels her eyebrows knit together. “What does it sound like?”

Madelina purses her lips, “ _Esta es mi lengua_.”

 _That sounds like Spanish,_ Emma thinks, eyes widening. “Yes, I know it. I’m fluent – I can read and write it, too.”

In New York, with Regina’s fake memories, it was strange – in retrospect, rightly so – to her that Emma and Henry spoke Spanish to each other. Emma can remember having trouble, at first, taking over a month to get used to being part of a bilingual household, but then Henry got settled in school and started doing homework, doing essays for Spanish class that Emma helped him out with – that Regina probably helped him out with, before.

 _Thank-you, Regina,_ Emma thinks, wondering if her relationship with Henry would have taken a nosedive if ‘suddenly’, Emma ‘didn’t speak Spanish’. _He grew up speaking that language,_ Emma remembers, feeling nostalgic and sad, because those are Regina’s memories, not hers. _My fashion-style even changed, after I got those new memories._

“You write?” Madelina questions, looking surprised as she breaks Emma from her thoughts. “Can you do bookwork? I’m horrible with arithmancy.”

“I can do bookwork,” Emma confirms. A smile grows on Madelina’s face, before she offers a hand to shake. Emma takes it. “Room and board for waitressing and bookwork?”

“Waitressing, bookwork and bar-work,” Madelina adds. “And a spare dress.”

“Awesome,” they shake properly, before Madelina invites Emma inside, directing another of her barmaids by the name of Viola to show Emma upstairs to her wardrobe. The dress that Viola gives her to wear is deep blue, a kind of sleeveless over-shift more than a dress, made to go over a warmer cream dress with sleeves, a braided rope to go around her waist as a belt.

“Miss Madelina is a kind woman,” Viola says, chipper and young – maybe nineteen or twenty – with tan skin and dark brown curls pulled back into a thick plait. She does Emma’s hair into a bun, using a pretty blue ribbon to hold it in place. “She’ll be good to you, however long you’re here.”

“Nice,” Emma notes lightly, thankful she gets to keep her boots, even if Viola insists she wears an apron as well.  When they go back downstairs, a fight breaks out that a local pair of guards break up before Emma can barely do more than blink. She catches Madelina chucking the guards a pouch of coin, though, before they chuck the two men out of the pub.

Honestly, it isn’t much different from the Land Without Magic, working. There are only a few more hours of business before Madelina loudly declares it’s closing time, the last dozen customers who had been loitering vacating the premises. Emma sweeps the floor free of straw to go in the dying fireplace, while Viola mops up behind her, another girl by the name of Reyda cleaning the tabletops and bar, blowing out candles. Madelina, meanwhile, makes up a sink of soapy water and does dishwashing – asking Emma questions as they all work to make the tavern spic and span.

“Do you have any family, Leia?”

“I have a son,” Emma admits. “He doesn’t live with me.”

“Did he leave home? Marry?”

“No, no – he’s thirteen, nearly,” Emma shakes her head. “He lives with his adoptive mother, mostly. Sometimes, he visits his grandparents and I. His father died, before you ask.”

“It _was_ my next question,” Madelina says lightly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Me too,” Emma murmurs, thinking again of her brother, Prince Neal. _I shouldn’t have run. Maybe I wouldn’t have been anywhere near that time portal if I hadn’t run._ “What about you? Do you have family?”

“Not of my own,” Madelina shrugs. “I’m Viola’s guardian, but other than that, I only have my pathetic excuse for a father and my siblings. I only see two of them regularly. My family was lucky in that six of us survived to adulthood. Cora works here during the day, ofttimes – you will see her tomorrow. Micah works in the market, buying and selling wheat and flour. Dante and Rafael are sailors, invading foreign lands and defending King Xavier’s kingdom from sea attacks. My idiot brother Santino married for love and lives in the lap of luxury when he isn’t slaughtering pigs and cattle.”

“Don’t be so hard on Santino, Miss Madelina,” Reyda reaches over to poke her boss’ arm. “You _know_ he is happy.”

Madelina snorts. “I _know_ that his husband is a slut. Matias could never keep it in his pants.” Madelina looks to Emma, as if sharing some well-known piece of gossip. “Matias is the butcher in the King’s City. Santino married him, ignoring the fact that he has over eight bastards running around.”

“ _Right,_ ” Emma grimaces. “Sorry?”

Madelina waves her off, a sud of soap flying onto Reyda’s freshly-wiped bar-top, causing the girl to glare at Madelina as she speaks.

“Don’t worry over it. Santino made his decision. Last I heard, one of the girls’ mothers died – Santino took her in, despite Matias’ disagreement. He’s not really an idiot, just too in love. It happens and my niece will hopefully grow up to be a lovely young woman.”

“With the way you talk about your brother’s husband, I’m a little surprised you call her that.”

“She is my niece,” Madelina says, a sharp edge to her voice, even as she continues to dishwash calmly. “If you can’t accept that, then you aren’t welcome.”

“Wow,” Emma raises her eyebrow. “You and Micah are pretty damn similar.”

Madelina jerks, looking to her. “You’ve met Micah?”

“He told me how to get to Cáliz on his way home,” Emma gives an assuring smile. Madelina watches her for a moment, before smiling pleasantly.

“Enough about me, then, if you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting my favourite baby brother. Do you have any siblings?”

“One,” Emma says, before putting the last of the dirty straw into the fireplace. “He’s only a few weeks old, though. It surprised me as much as you’d think – my parents are old,” she jokes, knowing that her parents aren’t old and decrepit, despite how old they might actually be, just like everyone else under the Curse.

“Is the babe healthy?” Madelina questions, sounding vaguely worried.

“Perfect,” Emma grins, before it falters. “They named him after my sons father, though. I still don’t know what to think about it.”

“An unusual custom,” Reyda notes. “Usually, sons are named after their male relatives – fathers and grandfathers. Not uncles by marriage.”

“Neal was a hero,” Emma moves out of Viola’s way as she mops. “The problem was that he and I were on bad terms for a long time – he abandoned me before I even knew I was pregnant. I wasn’t even an adult. When he came back, it…it was just all complicated and shitty and he died. My parents didn’t even _talk_ to me about it, before my brother’s naming party.”

Viola pauses in her mopping to squeeze Emma’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone to talk to this about.”

Emma chuckles bitterly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes,” the three women say as one, causing Emma to sigh before she once more moves to let Viola mop, going over to the sink to help dry the cutlery, tankards and wooden crockery with a spare piece of cloth. Abruptly, however, she remembers she left Henry’s Book outside and she aborts her move to grab a cloth, heading for the back door.

“Leia?” Reyda calls after her as she rushes outside, head whipping around to the bench, which thankfully still has the Book laying on it. Picking it up, Emma flips through it to make sure there aren’t any missing pages, only to realise with a start that the majority of the Book is terrifyingly blank.

“What the hell?” she whispers, eyes wide. “What happened?” She finds bare beginnings of stories – _‘The Miller’s Daughter’_ barely halfway through Cora’s interaction with Rumplestiltskin, in her tower. Even as she watches, more words – conversation – appears.

_‘What do you want to do to them?’ Rumplestiltskin asked the Miller’s daughter._

_‘I want to make them bow,’ she said. ‘I want their kneecaps to crack and freeze on the stones. I want their necks to break from bending.’_

Emma shuts the Book quickly, swallowing sharply. Behind her, the door to the tavern opens.

“Leia?” Madelina questions her in a worried voice, “Are you alright? What’s that?”

“Something happened,” Emma mutters, turning hesitantly. “I can’t show you. There’s too much at stake. I think me being here is changing things, already.”

Madelina reaches out, taking Emma’s arm. “Come inside,” she orders and still shaken from the emptied Book, Emma lets her lead her into the tavern, setting her down on a chair by the fire. Madelina crouches in front of her, pulling the Book away from Emma’s chest to her knees. “‘Once Upon a Time’,” she reads the title.

“It’s magic,” Emma states. “It tells stories-” Emma stops herself, because they aren’t stories. The woman in front of her is Madelina, sister to Cora, aunt to a yet-to-be-born Regina. “Histories,” she corrects herself. “I need help.”

“What’s magic about a book like this?” Madelina queries, frowning. “The things you’ve said today made me question your story of being robbed on the road and I’ve looked at your clothes – they’re nothing like this realm’s produce.”

“I’m not from this realm,” Emma confirms.

But Madelina continues, “and you said your brother had a naming party – in other words, a naming ceremony. You belong to a Royal Line. I thought, when you told us of your son, that maybe your parents were raising him as their heir and that you had hidden, mixed feelings about having a brother to replace him.”

“What? No, just…no.” Her words leave Emma uneasy, however. _My parents wanted to go back to the Enchanted Forest, at one point. Would Henry be king, when they died? What about me? Why couldn’t I be…queen? And Henry’s a prince twice-over, anyway._ “I mean, his other mom’s a queen, anyway. But that’s really not any of your business.”

Madelina raises an eyebrow, before shaking her head in disbelief. “What’s wrong of this book of yours?”

“…the histories are disappearing,” Emma admits. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t be here.”

“In this realm?” Madelina asks.

“In this _time,_ ” Emma corrects gently, gaining a small gasp from Viola. “Cora’s not even married yet – her story in here is writing itself right now.”

“Married?” Madelina looks baffled at the concept. “To whom?”

“I don’t know, I think his name might be Henry?” Emma goes to look in the Book, remembering how she’d seen it before, then remembers the story has disappeared by half. She pauses, then actually thinks about it properly. _Henry Daniel Mills,_ she hums, biting her lips. “Yeah. Prince Henry. Right now, she’s trapped in a tower, spinning straw to gold with magic.”

The tavern-owner stands, going to the bar. “I need a drink. Reyda? Viola?”

“Yes, please,” Reyda agrees, sounding shocked. “Cora is to be a princess by marriage? Does her ambition know no bounds?”

“To be fair,” Emma starts, feeling a little more confident in giving away future things, “she does have a daughter who becomes queen. We know each other.”

“A niece,” Madelina pours four cups of wine, Viola putting away her mop as Reyda gets chairs for them all, seemingly settling in to hear what she has to say. Madelina shakes her head as she brings the cups and the wine bottle over on a tray. “And you are a time traveller. It is all so fantastical – why should we believe you?”

“Your father can corroborate that I appeared out of nowhere,” Emma states wryly, watching Madelina pause before she knocks back her wine, pouring another cup. Emma takes her own, sipping it and raising her eyebrow at the vintage. “Regina must inherit your taste in wine. What do you think about apple cider?”

“Depends on the make. I’m not a fan of apples, but a good apple cider can be nice with food,” she admits, looking more than a little lost. “My niece is to be queen. Queen of where?”

“…I don’t really know. Fairy-tale land geography isn’t my thing,” Emma shrugs.

“Fairy-tale land?” Viola tentatively questions.

Emma glances at her, tapping the Book. “I grew up thinking magic wasn’t real – I lived in the Land Without Magic. My son found me and made me believe. I broke a Curse that trapped people from this land in mine. A lot of stories I grew up were adaptions of real-life events from this world – so, yeah, fairy-tale land. I’m the daughter of fairytale characters.”

“Which ones?”

“They haven’t been born yet,” Emma replies, sipping her wine, opening the Book and flipping to a story that seemingly had an actual ending, recognising it as a new one. _‘Desperate Souls’_ , she reads, skimming the intro about a poor weaver-man from hundreds of years before Snow White’s war against the Evil Queen, who gave himself a self-inflicted injury to get out of the Ogre Wars. Her eyes lock onto a name that appears halfway down the page, however.

“No fucking way,” she breathes at the sight of the name, _Rumplestiltskin._

“What is it?” Reyda asks.

“The Dark One’s origin story,” Emma itches to read it, but thinks it might be rude to do it right then, considering how she has company. The other woman share confused glances. “The Dark One is kind of like a fairy, except he makes deals instead of granting wishes and he uses dark magic. He’s lived a fucking long time as well, apparently. I know him. He’s a pain in my ass.”

“Isn’t that a bit impolite?” Viola mumbles. Emma snorts, shutting the Book again, setting it on the table beside her heavily.

“I suppose so, when he’s the one I could trust to help me get home.” Emma looks to Madelina, “He’s the acquaintance I was talking about.”

“What would you give to get home?” she asks. “You have nothing.”

“Depends what it takes to get home,” Emma replies, feeling a little morbid. “He can be petty. Once, he granted Cinderella her wish to dress up for a prince’s ball, getting a fancy dress and shoes and carriage – she even married the prince, in the end. His price was her firstborn child.”

“And she took the deal?” Madelina revolts, disgusted. “What was she thinking? _Stupid_ girl.”

“He did take Alexandra, in the end, but I got her back. Ella was in no position to be taking a baby, not really, but she was willing to put in the effort – and so was her partner, after a kick up the ass. I owed Rumple a favour, though,” Emma describes the situation, not going into detail.

Reyda reaches her foot over to tap Emma’s leg lightly, “Should you be telling us this, Leia? What if we change the future?”

“I don’t know how you could, except if you prevented Regina’s birth,” Emma shrugs. “Frankly, I’ve never heard of any of you before – I thought Cora was an only child, yesterday.”

“That little bitch,” Madelina hisses, suddenly quite vehement, gripping her cup tightly. “Too busy fucking a prince to keep us in her life.”

“And the Dark One,” Emma can’t help but add. “Gotta wonder who Regina’s dad is, with what Cora’s story suggested, before it all disappeared on me.” Emma wriggles her eyebrows, Madelina grimacing.

“She’s already had one daughter that she gave up. What would happen if she had a bastard while engaged to a prince?”

“Count back from Regina’s birthday and you’ll see,” Emma advises. “Hopefully, I won’t be here long enough to know myself. Too much chance I’ll fuck up the timeline. Though, it’ll be a close call – apparently he gets it on with her the night before her wedding.”

Madelina puts a hand to her forehead, shutting her eyes. “ _Dioses, Cora. ¿Qué haces?_ ”

“She’s fucking two men at once, that’s what she’s doing, Madelina,” Reyda says bluntly, “or, will be doing, rather.”

 _Is this gossiping?_ Emma asks herself, before leaning back in her chair. “I’m going to see if I can summon my acquaintance tomorrow, when he and your sister aren’t so… _caught up_ in each other.”

“Ugh, don’t even _imply_ what they’re doing right now,” Madelina rolls her eyes, letting out her bun. Auburn waves fall out and seriously, the resemblance to Zelena is _striking._ Emma’s tempted to mention it, licking her lips, the wine staining a smooth flavour of fermented grapes in her mouth.

“You look like Zelena,” Emma eventually decides to tell her. Madelina looks at her with a raised eyebrow that just says, _who are you talking about?_ “Cora’s firstborn. We’ve met, her and I. She caused a lot of trouble actually. She’s got hair just like yours.”

Soft surprise flickers across the other woman’s face, her hand tugging a curl by her ear thoughtfully.

“I wonder if I have any children in the future,” Viola marvels, pulling her feet up and under herself, adjusting her skirts, taking off her apron to drape over her chair back. Emma copies her after a moment, along with Reyda. Madelina doesn’t bother.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Reyda says. “If we adopt, then perhaps.”

Emma blinks, looking between the young women, “Wait, you’re together?”

“Of course they are,” Madelina mumbles into her wine. “Didn’t you notice when you went upstairs. There’s only two beds, Princess Leia.”

Emma chokes slightly on her wine, at that epithet. “My name isn’t Leia, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“No, keep it,” Madelina dismisses. “You’ve already told us too much about the future, as it is. Though, mayhaps I’ll write out a recommendation list of wines and spirits, if Regina really does have my taste. I’ll give it to her when she’s fifteen and has a bit more freedom – though, mayhaps as a princess, she’ll have her first tastes in a palace larder with the scullery maids before then.”

“It’s weird to talk about her like that,” Emma grimaces, at odds with the thought that Regina has yet to grow up yet, even be _conceived._ “She’s just so…distinguished, in the future.” _And gorgeous,_ she adds in her head, not wanting to call her that out loud. Emma won’t ever deny that she’s checked out Mayor Mills’ behind as she walked away – it’s a good behind that she can’t hide in those tight dresses and pencil skirts.

 _I’ve not checked her out in a while,_ Emma muses, thinking it a little admirable of herself. _Though, I have definitely had some ‘I’m gay’ moments around her and Ruby._

“Does she wear fancy dresses with silks and velvets?” Viola asks eagerly, melting in her chair. “I _love_ seeing all the royals in their ballgowns and embroidery.”

“Hey,” Reyda says in a jokingly offended tone.

“I’ve not actually seen her in the type of dress you’re talking about,” Emma interjects, “but I have seen her in a dress from my world. A lot, actually. She usually wears block colours, though – not embroidery or patterns - and red lipstick. Her office is a black and white geometric eyesore,” Emma adds.

“You have a lot of opinions on my niece,” Madelina notes amusedly.

“I’ve had to. She adopted my son and wasn’t in a good place, when we first met,” Emma sips at her wine again, Madelina blinking rapidly.

“She adopted your son?”

“Yeah,” Emma shrugs. “She didn’t have anyone.”

“How did she become Queen, then?” the woman questions, disturbed.

“She was forced to marry my grandfather. She took over his kingdom after he died and banished my mother, or something,” Emma shrugs again, scratching behind her ear awkwardly. “She was a bandit for a while. Met my dad around that time and then had a war with Regina. Took back most of her kingdom, from what I heard, though Regina still had her own, or something? I don’t really know.”

“And she still adopted your son?” Madelina asks, disbelieving. “Nothing you say makes sense, Leia.” Emma opens her mouth, ready to rehash the story of her existence, but Madelina puts a hand up to stop her. “No, no more. You’ve said enough. We should not have all the pieces to the puzzle – we shouldn’t know there _is_ a puzzle. Time travel…you need to speak to this Dark One, soon, if you think he can truly help you return to your time.”

“And realm,” Emma adds.

“And realm,” Madelina finishes her second cup of wine, Reyda pouring her a third as she pours her own second. She raises her cup. “To my sister’s idiotic plans coming to fruition, so that we all get to meet my niece, one day – daughter of the Dark One or not.”

“Hear, hear,” Emma leans forwards, tapping their cups together before finishing her cup. Wiping her mouth, Emma licks her lips, pointing to Reyda, Viola and the wine in turn. “Let’s finish this bottle while you tell me how you met.”

“An excellent idea, Princess,” Madelina praises, grinning toothily.

* * *

Emma stays with Madelina and the girls at the tavern for another week, laying low, before she tries to call Rumplestiltskin. The key word there is: tries. With no answer the first few times saying _Rumplestiltskin_ three times in a row, Emma worries over how to get home, hoping he’s only distracted by Cora rather than an alternate theory she has – that saying his name thrice does _not_ summon him, like in the stories.

Truthfully, the though of seeing Gold again – seeking him out on purpose – makes her uncomfortable, but he really is the only option she can see in this time and place. Cora, at least, is engaged to Prince Henry. Rumours have been flying around about the prince’s witch bride who can turn straw into gold, who will bring wealth back to Xavier’s Kingdom – and the Book has written in the engagement, paused for now over Cora learning how to be Royal.

However, what really blows Emma away is how Cora sends heavy bags of coins to Madelina and Micah both – the latter of whom she’d met again two days after her new appointment in Madelina’s tavern. Cora sent a letter with the gold, too, the riders who’d been ordered by King Xavier to distribute them nearly reading it to Madelina aloud, thinking she couldn’t read.

“I can read fine,” Madelina had snatched the letter and the gold both, pulling Emma and Micah into the tavern storeroom so neither could be accosted by guards – in Micah’s case – or spotted and questioned – in Emma’s case.

Cora had sent her permanent farewells, giving them the gold as a goodbye present, entrusting Micah’s share to Madelina so their father wouldn’t steal and spend it on drink. Emma thought it both kind and heartless – yet, she knows that Cora still has her heart in her chest. The letter, though, said that her siblings should not contact her, for they were below her station and only Dante and Rafael as Fleetmen should seek her out, if they ever returned from the sea.

“I want to know my niece, though,” Madelina murmured to Emma later. “Should I try to keep up a correspondence? I feel as if she would send me a reply, only to say not to do it again.”

“I don’t know, Madelina,” Emma says reluctantly. “Maybe ask to see her on local holidays? I don’t know if you have any special days or anything, but maybe you could get to see Regina when she’s born if you insist upon it. You’re still her sister.”

“Her older sister, too,” Madelina mutters. Emma sees her penning a letter soon after, sealing it with wax in an envelope. The next evening, Micah takes it from her and heads back to the mill, to take it to the palace the next morning with the flour.

Emma decides, regarding her Dark One problem, that it could be because of the woman around her – maybe he only came when you were alone, or in a group and while Madelina and the girls were supportive of her, they would hardly be going back in time with her. She goes out into the woods around the town after sundown on an evening that she gets let off from working by Madelina, going far enough into the trees that the town is barely more than lights in the dark behind her.

“Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestilt-”

“What do you need?” he questions, sounding put-out. Emma twists around, backing up against a tree sharply as she sees his golden skin in the moonlight. He moves his hands about, wrists flicking. “I’ve been busy. I thought you might give up, but you got…annoying.”

“You’re _actually_ gold,” Emma mutters to herself, staring a little, fascinated. _Are those scales?_

“Yes, I am,” Rumple agrees, sounding peeved. “What do you want?”

“I…I need your help,” Emma admits, wincing at her own words. “This is going to be hard to believe, but I’m from the future.”

“Yes, that _is_ hard to believe,” he agrees. “Time travel can’t be done. What _proof_ do you have of your little claim?”

“That code has been cracked. Just- just listen,” Emma gets angry, then, at herself and at the world and at Rumplestiltskin. “I have been here in the past for over two weeks. Two weeks without plumbing and coffee and my son- _your grandson_ , is waiting for me!”

“My _what_ now?” Rumple stares at her, frowning, voice quick as he tilts back on his foot. “Who _are_ you, girlie?”

“I’m the product of True Love,” Emma says, trying to infuse as much seriousness into her voice as she can. “I break the Dark Curse in the future, when I’m twenty-eight.”

“That’s impossible. The product of True Love being able to break the Curse is only speculation,” Rumple points at her. “Tell me what you mean about being the mother of my grandson. Are you Cora’s daughter?” His voice turns vulnerable for a moment, before Emma shakes her head hurriedly.

“What? No,” she denies, “ _god_ , no. I’m the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming- Prince James. Neither of them have been born yet.”

Rumplestiltskin frowns. “Then how did you have my grandson?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Emma asks tiredly, shuffling forwards a bit, off the tree-roots she’s standing on awkwardly. “My son is Baelfire’s son, too.”

“Bae,” he breathes, “My Bae?”

“Yes.”

A few moments later, he’s smiling, stepping closer to her. “I find Bae. How?” He puts his arm out, still grinning. “Don’t tell me! If I succeeded, I don't want anything in my head that might throw it off.”

Emma tries to keep up her own smile, but she can’t stop herself from nearly dropping it a few times. _Change the topic,_ she orders herself, before dismissing her smile.

“Can you help me get back to my own time?”

“How did you get here in the first place?” he questions in turn.

“A portal,” she says, wary about telling him too much. “There was…markings, in the floor. Four ingredients. The person who was supposed to cast it died and the pendant holding her magic broke.”

“Died? Are you very sure about that, dearie?” Rumple hums in a foreboding way. “Magical receptacles are tricky. If her death triggered the portal, she might very well be here, right now, with you.”

Emma’s expression twists into one of horror. “Zelena could be _here?_ In this time with me? Oh no, oh- oh _no._ ”

“What?” Rumple questions, jerking slightly as his head twists. He leans forwards a touch. “Wait. Why was this Zelena trying to time travel in the first place?”

“She- she wanted to prevent her sister from being born,” Emma says, gripping her leather satchel holding Henry’s Book and her cloak, which Reyda had given her only yesterday. “Her parents aren’t even married yet.”

“Well, that’s inconvenient,” Rumple wrinkles his nose, “You can’t leave until you’ve dealt with her or found her, to bring her with you.”

Emma laughs in a hollow manner, thinking of Cora and her magic. “It won’t be that hard, if she goes for her mother. The dad, though…” _this is bad, but I **really** hope Regina’s dad is Gold right now, if Zelena kills Prince Henry._

“As a product of True Love, you _should_ have magic,” Rumple states. “Why not protect them both? Act as a little secret bodyguard and catch her in the act?”

“I-” Emma shakes her head, not knowing what to do. Zelena has had over two weeks to plan something, if she really is here with her. She looks to him. “What do I do?”

“How am I supposed to know?” he shrugs, before looking her up and down. “You said you’ve been here for two weeks. You’ve interacted with people. You could have changed something important with a single word- no, less than that, even just being _seen_.”

“I know, but I couldn’t just wait around doing nothing while I waited for you to answer,” Emma crosses her arms, causing him to roll his eyes and snap his fingers. A second later, they appear in a dark room, lit with candles and a fireplace which roars to life at their entrance. Emma wobbles in place, before regaining her balance. “What was that?”

“I have transported us to my castle,” Rumple waves around. “You will not leave and you will not do anything whatsoever outside these walls, while I track down your mysterious _Zelena_. Is there any information you think prudent to tell me?”

“She- she…” Emma swallows. “She’s Cora’s firstborn?”

Rumplestiltskin’s face shows everything he feels at her words. Worry, horror, fear… “Are you sure?” he whispers.

“Very sure, Mr G- Rumplestiltskin.” Emma blinks, hands clenching again as he takes that in. A moment later, he disappears and Emma is left in his castle, alone.

 _What am I supposed to do now?_ She thinks, before sighting a chair by the fireplace. Going over to it, Emma sits, not wanting to go exploring like Belle from the movie did and get shouted at for going into a forbidden wing or something. _Madelina and the girls will be worried when I don’t come back. Then they’ll probably think I’ve been sent back._

Thoughts of Zelena bubble back up. Emma can’t believe she might have followed her through. _Of **course** she wasn’t dead, though. Seriously, I won’t ever believe a villain is dead unless we can bury a body- wait, no. _ Emma grimaces. _Archie had a fake dead body, dammit._

Using the firelight, Emma decides to read out of Henry’s Book, missing her son more than ever as she reads about how Rumplestiltskin became the Dark One. At some point, she must have fallen asleep though, because the next thing she knows, she’s waking up in a bed with a canopy, the curtains over a window open to let the sun stream in. For a few moments, she’s disorientated.

 _How did I end up here?_ Wide awake all of a sudden, blinking sleep out of her eyes, Emma gets out of bed, looking at her clothes – which thankfully, are the same from last night, minus her cloak, blue shift, belt and boots. By the window, she sees them hanging over an armchair.

“Rumplestiltskin?” she calls tentatively, flinching when he appears out of nowhere, just past the sun rays. “How did I get here?”

He looks nervous and Emma decides he should be, clenching her fists, “I carried you- because you were asleep! Not for nefarious purposes!”

“You took my _clothes_ off,” Emma hisses.

“You’re Baelfire’s partner!” he exclaims in return, looking panicked. “I was treating you as a guest!”

“I’m not his partner,” Emma replies, heart thudding in her chest, “not anymore. We haven’t been together for years.”

“…oh,” Rumplestiltskin cringes. “I see.”

“Don’t _ever_ do that again,” Emma demands, thoroughly creeped out. “God, are you going to remember this when I get back?”

“If I take a memory potion, no,” he says. “Good thing for me.”

“God,” Emma mutters, crossing her arms and realising he’d taken out her hair, too. Reaching up, she blinks at the long braid, held in place by her usual blue ribbon. “Did you do my hair?”

“No!” he says, too quickly, hurrying to deny it. Emma gives him a _look_ , before walking over to her clothes by the window, tugging on the blue over-shift, tying her belt on. “I found your fellow time traveller. She escaped my grasp. You failed to mention how powerful she is.”

“I thought that would be obvious, what with the ‘inventing time travel’ shit,” Emma defends herself. “Any chance of food?”

Rumple snaps his fingers and then they’re in that hall – Emma, minus her shoes. Hissing at the cold floor, she pads over to stand on the carpet in front of the fireplace, grumbling to herself. Another snap of his fingers has a steaming breakfast buffet appear at the table.

“Take your pick,” he says, sitting at the head of the table, serving himself. After a long moment, Emma joins him, tucking her feet up on the wooden strut of her chair. “How powerful are _you_ , dearie? And what should I call you in this time – _don’t_ give me your real name.”

“I’ve been calling myself Leia,” Emma offers. “Madelina calls me Princess Leia.”

“And why does she do that?” he queries good-naturedly, before pausing, taking in her devoid face as she picks out some toast and bacon. “Oh, I see. Yes, of course – you _did_ say that your father was a prince. Princess, now _that_ is an interesting tidbit.”

Emma shrugs, letting him assume. Buttering some toast, she ponders Madelina. _I’m going to miss her,_ she thinks wistfully, _and Viola, Reyda and Micah. Ian from the bakers next door was decent enough, too._ Ian was pretty taken with her from the start – Madelina got her to pick up ten loaves the morning after she arrived and Ian was a little dumbstruck at the sight of her. _He made nice pastries,_ Emma bites into her toast, wondering if she could convince Rumplestiltskin to fetch some for her before she left.

“When _can_ I go?” she asks said Dark One.

“When Zelena is captured for you to take back with you and or dead,” he replies cheerfully. “She tried to murder Cora, yesterday. I’ve taught her some wards to protect herself – she’s taken quite well to Elven runes. A genius witch.”

His tone is more than a little awed, almost _sappy_ and for a moment, Emma wonders what Belle would think of his behaviour, before remembering, like most of the people she knows from Storybrooke, she hasn’t been born yet – or maybe she has. _How old is Belle, anyway?_

“Keep it in your pants,” Emma replies. Rumple glances at her, serpentine eyes catching her off-guard. “Why did the Darkness make you look like that?”

He hesitates, before looking away. “The Darkness doesn’t like to be contained. It’s a Curse, technically – it has to show itself some way.”

“Do all curses do that? Show themselves on the outside?”

“No,” he answers. “Other curses have different effects, usually to the detriment of the cursed. Sleeping curses send the mind of the comatose person to a hellish mental plane. Infertility curses are a constant ache that cannot be relieved, according to the women who have taken such punishment, voluntary or not. Why so interested?”

Emma shrugs, helping herself to a strawberry. “I don’t know. Zelena took away my magic.” Rumplestiltskin is silent for a few moments, before he reaches out, taking her wrist. She exclaims in surprise, “Hey!”

Then she feels a kind of bubbling, before she feels a type of vertigo that has her reeling. Her other hand slams down on the table, sending a shudder and a crack through it, the wood splitting open. All at once, Emma can feel her magic again and it floods her, like a dam breaking open.

“Contained,” Rumplestiltskin lets go of her wrist and the dam is shut again. “Not taken. You don’t have control, you would have known otherwise. It was an easy barrier to break. She took advantage of your ineptitude. You might have regained control at another time, had the need been great enough for you to unlock it.”

Breathing hard, Emma looks at the crack in the table, chair shrieking on the stone floor as she pushes it back, ignoring the sting of cold against her bare feet. The crack goes all the way through the wood, nearly all the way to the other side.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” she whispers in a hush, scared.

“Is there anyone who could teach you how to control it in your time?” Rumple questions. Emma glances at him.

“Well…yes, but not anyone I’m on good enough terms with.”

“Are _we_ on good terms, Princess?” Rumple points at himself, smiling. Emma gives him an unimpressed look. “I’ll take that for a negative, but no matter! You’re staying until Zelena is caught, in any case and I might as well make use of you.”

“How?” Emma asks warily.

“Be my apprentice, full-time,” he offers, “Learn from my library, brew potions and tinctures under my supervision and gain control, if not mastery of your magic.”

“Your price?”

Rumple tuts. “Free of charge, with the clause that you tell future me of what happened. The memory potion I’ll be taking is trickier than the normal kind – it’ll erase your image, including conversations and things like that from my memory without _also_ taking my memory of the surrounding events; it’ll also nudge me away from trying to figure your absence out, because I _will_ be able to tell. Inform my future self that he’s to stop putting off reversing the memory potion he had.”

Emma feels sceptical. “That’s all?”

“That’s all,” he promises, giving a winning smile ruined by his pointed teeth, more like a crocodile’s than a humans. _I get the nickname now, Hook,_ Emma grimaces.

“Fine. Deal.”

“Excellent!” Rumple turns back to his breakfast, slathering a piece of toast with jam. “We’ll start immediately after breakfast, learning Elvish script.”

“…what have I just signed myself up to?” Emma mutters to herself, sensing a foreboding in his voice.

* * *

Emma meets Cora for the first time three months into her stay in the past.

Still trapped in Rumplestiltskin’s castle, Emma roams the hallowed halls in the afternoon, mostly, sometimes with a handheld lunch. It’s one of the days she’s eating lunch on the move when she sees Cora and Rumple in the library through the open door, huddled together with a heavy-bound book in the corner of the larger sofa. Emma watches them for a minute, biting into her chicken and cucumber sandwich every so often.

“Are you going to join us, Princess?” Rumple raises his voice, startling Cora at his side. The woman twists, moving away from the wizard as she looks to Emma, vaguely panicked. Emma swallows her mouthful as he continues. “Staring is unbecoming.”

“I’m just surprised. Never thought you’d bring her here.”

“Who are you?” Cora herself questions and honestly, even if Emma hadn’t memorised the blurred mosaic of her face in the Book, she looks enough like Madelina, Regina and her future self that Emma would have guessed it was her.

“This is my apprentice, the Princess Leia,” Rumple says lazily, leaning back in the arm of the sofa, book abandoned on the table. Emma grimaces at the open shirt he sports. “Also, she is a former acquaintance of my son. I’m obliged to care for her, in the interim between the naturally-occurring portals to her realm open.”

“I see,” Cora raises her chin. “Begone.”

Emma raises an eyebrow. “Uh, no, just because you said that. If you want to go fuck Rumple, at least fuck in his room – and I know he has one, I’ve seen him wearing pyjamas.”

“You have not,” Rumple denies, an edge of whine to his voice.

“Have too,” Emma shoots back. “Seriously, though, if you have sex on that sofa, I’m setting it on fire.”

“We’ll have to go at it up against the bookcases, then,” Cora sneers. Emma can’t help the quick twitch of her lip before she enters the library properly, grabbing an Elven-Elvish to Common Northern dictionary and then an Elven-Elvish to Low Southern one, as well when she sees it. “Are you leaving now?”

Emma flips her the bird with her sandwich hand as she juggles the dictionaries under her arm. “Fuck on the sofa, see it burn, Rumple,” she reminds him, knowing he likes that sofa set. It reminds her of a flatmate she had when she was twenty-four, who liked to fuck on her bed. Emma broke his PlayStation 2 the morning she moved out.

 _Psycho bitch,_ she thinks, remembering the havoc Cora causes in the future – not to mention, traumatising Regina, somewhat, if not a hell of a lot. _She’s a terrible mother. I’m not going to even **think** about Zelena._

Focusing on her learning of a new language – one that can’t be spoken by human tongues, thankfully – Emma goes to her study, an addition to her room, courtesy of the castle itself. Apparently, it’s alive, which isn’t creepy _in the least._

It really, really is.

But she gets a study and hot baths when she wakes up every few days, so she can’t complain. Emma just hopes that the castle doesn’t start to _dislike_ her, because that could be troublesome. According to Rumple, magical artefacts with personality – his example being the castle itself – could get pernickety if ignored too long. Too much exposure to magic over a long period of time changes objects, or so he says.

Trying to see if he’s right, Emma has been experimenting, using her leather gloves – which he had retrieved from Madelina’s tavern along with her other modern-day clothes – as her first test subject. Every morning, she had purposefully imbued magic in them, lifting them up into the air and turning them invisible, sometimes – invisibility didn’t always work with her. Rumple says that’s because light magic doesn’t like to hide and his library corroborates his story, so Emma unfortunately believes him.

Her gloves, she’d noticed over the past couple of months, had gained a kind of…presence. When she shuts her eyes, reaching out with her magic, Emma can sense them in her periphery, cataloguing them as _hers_ before she even manages to assign a magical signature to any other magical artefact around her.

“It’s an interesting experiment and a safe one, too, well done – the most damage you could have done was set them on fire,” Rumple grins when she shows him. “One of my previous apprentices used a rock. The result wasn’t pretty. She died.”

“What happened?” Emma frowns.

“The rock… _exploded._ ” Rumple demonstrates with his hands, dramatically ‘dying’ for her benefit. Laughing a little, Emma hums, putting her gloves on. Rumple looks to her, pausing for a moment. “I see. You might want to use those when climbing castle walls, Princess. Or, perhaps alternatively, when you don’t want to be noticed picking a lock.”

“I want to what now?” Emma questions, amused.

“You’ve been using magic that has attuned your little mundane gloves to specific actions,” he explains, reaching over to take her hands, twisting her gloves around to see the insides. “What did you do with them, to imbue your magic in them?”

“Flew them around the room, turned them invisible, sometimes…”

“‘Flew them around the room’, you say,” he giggles, “This is _so_ much better than having an apprentice who only wants to kill their enemies. You’re creative and _bored_.”

Emma can’t deny _that_ , at least.

“You attuned your gloves to high heights and to stealth,” he says plainly. “Do you understand the logic to that?”

“…yeah,” Emma looks at her gloves with a newfound respect. “I do.”

“Very good. Now do it again, a different way, to something new,” he orders, clapping his hands together and bouncing, so very, very different from his calm, poised future self. Frankly, with how much praise she’s getting, Emma doesn’t even care anymore.

“On it,” she promises, grinning at the infamous Dark One, farthest from worried that she could be.


	2. Chapter 2

His father’s palace is far from exquisite, but Henry loves it all the same – he hopes Cora will learn to love it as well, no matter her bad memories there. He can remember the day she was forced to kneel, the same day she was imprisoned in the western tower. _I will never let her be treated like that again,_ he thinks, arm twisting around her waist from behind as the Dark One bows with a flourished hand to King Xavier.

“It would be a pleasure to serve, provided we see payment,” the Dark One grins, all razer teeth and horrifying lizard’s eyes. Henry feels a frisson of fear as the sorcerer welcomes his companion forwards, face barely visible in the low light of his father’s office. He can see their boots the most and their dark brown leather trousers, along with what looked to be a white tunic hiding beneath their waist-length cloak, gold-embroidered hood hiding their identity and features under black, scaly fabric.

“Payment will be given. I am made to understand you take gold,” Xavier addresses him, seemingly without fear. It isn’t something Henry can fathom, bones rigid as the Dark One skips closer to them both, hand coming up to curl under Cora’s chin.

“I want a _favour_ , instead. This magic-user will act as personal bodyguard to your precious daughter-in-law and grandchild, King Xavier. As they are my apprentice, it is our right to receive separate payment and so, we will.”

“What kind of favour?” Cora questions, voice as toneless as it ever is.

“The kind that kings can pay, _dearie_.”

The Dark One looks to Henry, gaze heady and almost… _angry_ as Henry slips his hand over Cora’s protruding belly. He gnashes his teeth before twirling around, turning his back to them both, stalking over to his apprentice and circling them, instead, pulling back their hood. It surprises Henry to see a woman, older than Cora yet with equal beauty, shining blonde hair pulled into a crown braid around her head. _I thought they were a man,_ Henry thinks, looking to the trousers once again, slightly nonplussed.

“Her name is unimportant and her abilities are not to be questioned,” the Dark One stipulates. “If she faces the would-be assassin who is trying so very hard to kill Princess Cora-” he says her name in a low voice, angry and put-out and Henry wonders, briefly, if the deal Cora said she found her way out of had left a lasting impression on the being “-they are to be taken into our custody or killed.”

“I would prefer them to be questioned by my guards,” Xavier states. “We may be desperate, but we are not helpless.”

“Not going to happen,” the woman finally speaks, confident. Henry swallows, seeing a true, raging steadfastness there that makes him wary. _How powerful is she?_ He thinks those words and he becomes worried. _The Dark One is called that for a reason – just how dark could this Apprentice be that he would take her on in the first place?_ “And seeing as you called for the Dark One’s help, you’re _obviously_ desperate.”

“And if I _wish_ for the assassin to be questioned by my guards, irrelevant of your opinion?” Xavier challenges.

“We don’t grant wishes,” she replies, “we’re not fairies. If you want wishes, look up at the brightest star in the sky and ask Blue for help.”

“Very good, very good…” the Dark One giggles quietly, watching her.

The Apprentice looks back at him briefly, pursing her lips before turning back to Xavier, curtseying delicately.

“I’m at your service, Your Majesty. My payment is the assassins life, one way or another.”

“Very well,” Xavier agrees reluctantly. “A favour and the nuisance we called you to deal with in the first place.”

 _An assassin is hardly a nuisance, father,_ Henry thinks, remembering the last time an assassin’s blow fell on their family – his oldest brother’s two boy-children had their throats slit in their sleep, leaving inheritance of Xavier’s crown after Roberto to the middle brother, Juan.

“Lovely. Dearie,” the Dark One’s hand comes to rest briefly on the Apprentice’s upper arm, gaining her attention and eye-contact. “Don’t come back till you have them by their neck.”

“I’ve got this, Gold,” she says, before he nods, disappearing a moment later, right in front of their eyes. Henry jolts, grip on Cora tightening before she shrugs out of his hold, stepping forwards towards the Apprentice with an outstretched arm.

“May our relationship be short,” she greets coldly as they get within touching distance.

The Apprentice gives Cora a grim smile, stepping closer to take her hand, shaking it and murmuring something Henry can’t hear. Whatever she said makes Cora glare, before they release each other and the Apprentice pulls their hood back up, face returning to shadow. Henry reaches out to pull Cora to him, to keep her far from this woman who is supposed to protect her, but only scares him. Cora refuses his protection though and instead stalks over to the door.

The Apprentice follows.

* * *

“Do you know them?” Cora asks her when Emma rewrites the Elven wards that cover the walls of Cora and Henry’s bedchambers. “Do you know the witch who is trying to kill me?”

“She’s trying to kill your child,” Emma replies instead of answering, pausing to take a look at her notes, the scrolls open on the floor beside her. Wincing, she makes an on-the-fly adjustment to compensate for her mistake – it’s not as if she can rewrite the sentence now, not when doing that requires the entire wall be cleaned of invisible chalk. Emma can’t lift her hand from the wall now, lest she lose her place entirely, which is a bugger because her sleeve is bothering her and she can’t risk moving her elbow even with her spare hand.

Cora shifts on her rocking chair, obviously trying to get comfortable. Emma doesn’t offer her any advice, knowing it would probably be useless. Cora’s had a child before, too and not thirteen years ago.

“Why haven’t you gone home to your realm? Is it this witch trying to kill my child?”

“We’re acquainted, but honestly, not much more than that. We just so happen to be on the wrong sides. I know her family…sorry, I have to concentrate on this,” Emma focuses on the wards, her hand cramping from how long she’s been at this single stretch of wall. _As soon as I’m done this side, I’m taking a break._

A servant comes in with food at one point, through the servants door and immediately, Emma – and Cora – can feel the _snap_ of danger as the wards try to hold them in place. Emma keeps the invisible chalk in place, using her free hand to help the wards hold them still. Cora – the _idiot_ – goes over to them, hand reaching out to their face, making a motion not dissimilar to ripping off a mask.

Nothing happens over than the servant giving out a sharp gasp of fear, however and that’s when Cora turns her attention to the tray of food, taking it from them. Emma feels the wards around that area sway away from the person, at that and she belatedly lets the servant drop to the ground, clearly in shock. Zelena and Cora have met already – Cora even knows her face, apparently.

“Poison,” Cora mutters, using her pinkie to rifle through tea leaves in the silver strainer for the accompanying drinks. “Poison _and_ contraceptive.”

“How do you know that?” Emma frowns.

“My mother taught me,” Cora puts the tray on a nearby table, crouching down by the servant, fingers curling around their collar. “Who made that tea?”

“Cora,” Emma interrupts, gaining her attention for a brief moment, “are you good questioning them without killing them?”

“Yes. I’ll call the guards as soon as you finish that wall,” Cora states, getting a nod from Emma, who turns back to the wall, invisible chalk scraping along the stone as the servant tells all.

* * *

“Why don’t you contact Madelina?” Emma asks Cora, one night when they share a bed for warmth, Henry away as an envoy. In the moonlight, she can see the other witch, her tan skin illuminated and cleaner than her sister’s has ever been.

“We make our own way, in our family,” Cora murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Madelina has her own life. If she needed help, truly needed it, she could ask and I would give it, if I could. She hasn’t asked.”

“But why leave her out of this – you’re having a kid. What if Madelina wanted to meet them?”

“Madelina can come visit whenever she likes, provided Xavier doesn’t see her.”

“That’s helpful,” Emma mutters. “He watches you like a hawk.”

“Yes and that is why she cannot come. I love my sister…or at least I did, before I ripped my own heart out. I’m aware you know, so I know there’s no point in lying to you about it, Princess Leia. Tell me, were you born into that title?”

“I was, but it doesn’t mean I grew up knowing,” Emma mumbles, yawning silently. “Things happened. More things are going to happen. You’ve never seen my true face before for that reason.”

Cora cracks her eyes open properly. “What do you mean?” Her hand slips upwards, however, ready to go through that ripping motion like she’d tried with the servant twelve weeks before. Emma grasps it under the covers, staying her attempt.

“Don’t,” she warns. “If you do, you’ll have to deal with worse than knowing I’m not what I look like. By worse, I mean a memory potion that _will_ be forced on you.”

Cora’s nose wrinkles in distaste, but she removes her hand, making no attempt to see Emma’s true face as she settles it on her bulging belly. Emma had guessed she might be nearing nine months, considering that was how long she’d been with the prince, nearly. Still cautious, Emma casts a small spell to wake her if Cora’s hands get anywhere near her in the night, turning onto her other side, away from the other witch. She closes her eyes, thinking of Henry in New York when they’d wake up in the morning for pancakes or scrambled eggs on toast. His happy smiles fill her thoughts, but she cries when she realises she can’t remember what his face looks like – what his nose looks like on his thirteen years old face or his freckles.

 _I miss you,_ she grieves for the time she’s lost, knowing that when she returns to the future, to him it will have been no time at all. Henry won’t remember the nearly twelve months she’s spent away from him – he won’t even realise something happened at all until she hugs him tight and cries. _And I will cry._

They are no closer to catching Zelena. There have been plenty assassination attempts, up until recently – now Emma thinks that Zelena might try her old trick of taking the baby when Cora is at her weakest, like with Neal and Snow. Emma wasn’t able to help back then, but things are different now. Emma can use her magic, been trained by the very person Zelena learnt from-

Behind her, Cora groans, twisting. “I hate this.”

“Hate what?” Emma replies sleepily, blinking awake.

“My back…”

 _Oh,_ Emma dismisses it. _It’s just her baby,_ she thinks, slipping back into dreamland with ease – only to be awoken by Cora moving about in her sleep again, something she never does.

“Your back?” she questions, barely more than mumbling.

“It aches,” Cora admits. “It’s painful.”

“If it gets any worse, wake me,” Emma instructs, turning to face the woman rather than away from her. “You might be going into labour.”

“It’s too early,” Cora murmurs, “I was taking teas for a time, after I married Henry.”

 _Teas?_ Emma rubs at her eyes, frowning. _Wait…_ “Morning-after teas, you mean? How far along do you think you are?”

“Seven months,” Cora shuffles onto her back, tugging at the covers. Emma frowns.

“If it gets worse, _definitely_ wake me up, then,” she says, wary. _It could be Braxton Hicks…_

Emma goes back to sleep after that, periodically being woken by a twisting and turning Cora. By the time morning comes, Emma’s more than a little certain that it _isn’t_ Braxton Hicks – especially with how strained the pain is making Cora. When their usual servant comes in with breakfast, Emma quietly asks her for some extra pillows and for the midwife to be brought up, discreetly.

“You think I’m in labour?” Cora questions, after the servant vanishes. “I’m not that far along.”

“I think you’re in denial,” Emma replies, pursing her lips. “And if your baby really is the prince’s, then we need the midwife up here – this isn’t right.”

Cora eats her breakfast sparingly, sipping water and gripping Emma’s hand tightly when a contraction ripples through her. By the time the midwife arrives, it’s pretty damn clear that she really _is_ in labour – at least, it’s clear enough to Emma.

“What do we have here?” the midwife bustles around them, agreeing with their suspicions.

Frankly, Emma doesn’t expect Cora insist she stays for what turns out to be Regina’s birth.

Baby Regina is squalling and pretty damn small, with a small tuft of dark brown hair on the back of her head. The sight of it makes Emma smile a little, thinking it funny that the perfect Regina Mills is born with a wonky hairline. Of course, her smile leaves quickly, because as soon as waiting servants are called in to strip Cora’s bed, the wards go off.

“My baby,” Cora gasps awake out of a nap, Emma cradling the baby in her arms as Zelena meets her eyes.

She looks different – more haggard, tired – and her hair is a soft honey blonde, eyes a dark brown. Her disguise is unremarkable and plain, but honestly, Emma recognises her instantly. She watches Zelena’s eyes fall down to the baby in her arms and Emma is filled with fear. _I can’t protect her,_ she thinks, _Cora can’t protect her-_

“I’ll keep her safe!” Emma exclaims, looking to Cora right before she twists, teleporting out of the tower in a flurry of white smoke, appearing in the only safe place she can think – Rumplestiltskin’s library. The man startles at the sight of her, eyes widening at the baby in her arms.. _I have to get back._ “Take her,” Emma urges, hurrying over to pass the swaddled princess over as he drops his book, standing up from the armchair.

“What- what are you doing? Who is this?”

“Regina, her name is _Regina_ and she’s Cora’s daughter,” Emma says in a rush. “She was born too early, but Zelena is there right now and I need to get back before she does something like- like kill Cora.”

“Go!” Rumple immediately barks, fear lacing his voice. Emma looks down once at the baby, who begins to squall, face twisted up. Rumple rocks her gently, crooning to her and it’s in that moment Emma knows she made the right decision.

Teleporting back to Cora’s side, her own wards fluctuating, still screaming _danger_ to every sensitive magical being in the castle, Emma appears just as Zelena crushes the heart of the midwife. The old woman falls from her knees sideways onto the floor, dead – lying at the feet of the frozen servants, held in place by dark, green magic. Emma reverses it, just to get a distraction, the servants screaming and escaping out of the door as Zelena growls, leaving the three of them alone.

“Enough,” Emma snaps at the other witch, coming to stand in front of Cora, who had moved off the bed to the wall by the window. Zelena narrows her eyes for a moment, squinting. Emma brings a hand to her face, momentarily deactivating the glamour she’s been wearing for the past few months. Zelena immediately begins to glare balefully, fists clenching as Emma recasts the glamour.

“Step aside, Swan.”

“Over my dead body,” Emma glares right back, magic ready at her fingertips, cool and numbing – she’s ready to protect Cora using any means necessary and her magic reflects her mindset, the effect like if she’s holding her hands in ice water. “You’ve changed time enough. We both have.”

“I just want my happy ending! Is that so much to ask?” Zelena screams.

“This is not how you get a happy ending,” Emma denies. “This is how you get killed or locked up, for good.”

“Rumplestiltskin already killed me, it didn’t take,” Zelena says bitterly, making Emma’s blood run cold. It must have shown in her expression, because Zelena’s eyes light up. “Didn’t get the message, Saviour? Gold came to my cell and _murdered_ me, all for a son whose death I had nothing to do with!”

“That…” Emma swallows, breathing in deeply, “that sounds like Gold.”

“You took her away – Regina,” Zelena says, unmoving. “Why? If she doesn’t live to see adulthood, then she never gets Henry.”

“Henry would never be born if that happened,” Emma replies, seeing her game. “Even if the timeline tried to correct itself, he wouldn’t be my same Henry. My son wouldn’t be the amazing boy he is without Regina.”

Zelena is quiet, but Emma can see her eyes flickering to Cora. Reminded that she’s there, Emma tries to figure out which memory potion would be most apt for this circumstance – Rumple already made sure she knows how to make each and every one he knows.

“There’s no way this doesn’t end without your plan failing,” Emma says to Zelena. “I won’t let you get away with this. I don’t even care if you get away in the future, as long as it’s _then_ and not now, or any time you don’t belong. We’re both messing with things we shouldn’t be messing with.”

“…let me think about that for a second,” Zelena says, humming, before glaring. “How about _no?_ ” Her hands raise and Emma has a split-second to react, the small space not ideal for up-close combat. She throws off Zelena’s spell through the window just as Xavier’s palace guards come storming in. Suddenly surrounded, Zelena screams in frustration, trying and failing to teleport away.

“That won’t work for you here,” Emma grins, triumphant. “I’ve gotten good at Elvish since you last saw me.” Throwing her own small volley of magic, Emma feels a sense of triumph as Zelena goes down unconscious as planned. Going over to her body, Emma crouches down beside her, checking her pulse and eyes as the magic fades from her limbs, content that her enemy is defeated, for now.

“Your Highness,” one of the guards goes over to Cora, lifting her up from the floor, returning her to bed. “Where is the royal child?”

“Safe, supposedly,” Cora says weakly. “Leia, where did you take her?”

“She’s safe with my Master,” Emma glances over at her. “He won’t hurt her, Cora. We have a deal with Xavier.” _And he still loves you,_ is what she doesn’t say. Cora looks as if she heard her thoughts anyway, because she clenches her jaw, falling silent.

Looking to the other guards, Emma catches the attention of the closest one. “I have a cuff in that drawer – black leather. Get it out for me.” The guard does as he’s told and once Emma has it, she puts it around Zelena’s wrist. A moment later the blonde leaches out of her auburn hair and generally, she looks healthier, the tired bags disappearing from under her eyes. _I wouldn’t have thought of that,_ Emma thinks, admiring Zelena briefly. _Most of the servants here are over-worked. She blended in better, looking as exhausted as she did._

“I’ll be back,” she murmurs, before teleporting herself and her passenger to the awaiting cell in Rumplestiltskin’s castle. Rather than teleporting again to get out, Emma uses the door, walking towards the library – using the walk as a chance to sort out her thoughts.

 _I have her now. I can go home._ Home. When Emma thinks of home, she thinks of Storybrooke where her family live. Snow, Henry, David – hell, even Regina. She misses Granny’s Diner and Ruby giving her complimentary bear claws and coffee when her grandmother isn’t looking. All she wants is to go back to what they had before. Arresting Leroy for drunken behaviour, talking to Archie when she’s struggling with something, flirting with Hook…

 _God,_ a laugh suddenly escapes her, _I nearly forgot he even existed, there._ Emma muses on the pirate – who _still_ hasn’t adjusted to Storybrooke’s clothing fashion. Even Cora was in a pantsuit, by the time she died. _I have weird taste,_ Emma thinks, unable to remember his face without thinking of his eyeliner. _Didn’t Regina call him Captain Guyliner, once?_

Regina herself is a big topic, in her head. Emma can’t seem to reconcile the grown woman she’s been fighting for years with the tiny newborn baby that she’s about to see again, with tiny fingers and brown eyes at birth. Coming up to the library, Emma wonders what the woman herself would have to say about this adventure she’s having in the past – _probably ask me never to talk about it ever again._

Opening the door, Emma looks around, finding Rumplestiltskin sitting on the sofa right by where she’d left him, murmuring in Low Southern to the baby girl. Padding over, Emma puts a hand on his shoulder, causing him to freeze, before he looks up to see her.

“…Cora?”

“Alive,” Emma informs him quietly. “Zelena is in the dungeons. The cuff is on.”

“Good,” Rumple says, before hesitating. Emma thinks of this Dark One, who is so open and clear about his emotional state – _what happens between now and when we first meet that has you so damaged?_ Emma questions, wondering. “You have to take Regina back.”

Emma smiles a little at how attached he already is to the baby girl, still unsure even in her own head if her story is right. Regina _is_ a small baby and she could be premature – but she seems perfectly healthy, wrapped up in Rumplestiltskin’s arms. _I can’t tell him any of my theories,_ Emma thinks, _I can’t have him thinking she could be his. Everything could change._

It just seems cruel to separate them so quickly.

“…I actually have something to do, before I do,” Emma says, having a lightbulb moment. Giving him a far more genuine smile, Emma reaches around him to touch baby Regina’s cheek before leaving the library, going by foot to the tower to give him as much time as possible.

 _The longer I draw this out, the more Cora could extrapolate from the conversation I had with Zelena._ Emma makes a memory potion in the tower, using a grimoire from the top shelf as a reference so she doesn’t make any mistakes, if she’s forgotten any steps at all. The potion takes ten minutes to brew, discounting preparation of ingredients and by the time she strains a dose into a dark blue bottle, it’s been an hour since she arrived with Zelena.

Rather than taking both the potion and the baby, Emma returns to the tower with just the blue bottle, coming face to face with King Xavier himself. At her appearance, he stands from his chair and draws his sword, raising it to her chin.

“Where is my granddaughter?”

“Safe,” Emma says, cautious as she steps backwards, looking to Cora. She lifts the blue bottle, holding it aloft. “For Cora.”

“What is this magic?” Xavier questions, snatching it from her. “Return my granddaughter!”

“In a minute, I promise, but Cora has to take the potion first.”

“I’ve put up with magic for too long,” Xavier clenches his teeth. “I will not have any more tainting my family.”

Emma swallows nervously, looking directly at the woman herself. Cora stares at her with tired eyes from her now-changed beds, the bloody sheets gone and replaced. She looks to be in no condition to even get out of bed, let alone argue a defence of her own.

“The conversation you overheard was for no-one’s ears but mine,” Emma says. “You’re an intelligent woman, Cora-”

“You will address her by her proper titles,” Xavier interrupts, his sword digging into the skin of Emma’s neck. Wincing at the cut it causes, the sting painful and leaking warm blood.

“Princess Cora,” Emma starts again, “what you heard shouldn’t be known to anyone. It’s too dangerous. Please-”

“I understand, even if I don’t want to.” Cora says quietly. “She was powerful. She looked like-” she stops herself from speaking, pursing her lips shut for a few moments. “You will _not_ kill her.”

“I’m a no-kill kind of girl,” Emma reassures her. “I won’t let the Dark One at her, either. She’ll be following me home, I promise.”

“What will you give me in exchange for taking what I assume is a memory potion?” Cora questions, before Xavier speaks again.

“You will not take anything this witch offers.”

Emma has a spark of genius, “This is the Dark One’s favour. Think of it – you won’t be indebted to a magical being, if she just takes the memory potion…right now.”

“Take the offer, Your Majesty,” Cora advises, hand rising, ready to accept the bottle even as her arm sways slightly. There’s a long, tense wait, but Xavier eventually lowers his sword, Emma going to Cora’s side slowly, still wary. Kneeling by her bedside, Emma waves her hand over the bottle, imbuing her wish of what time to remove into the potion, taking off the cork.

The potion sparks, steaming grey. Emma waits till the steam turns white to give the bottle over to the other princess, who willingly takes the dose, probably eager to forget what circumstances her mistake led to.

“I’ll go get her,” Emma says quietly as Cora blinks away a cloud of confusion, looking for her daughter. She teleports away, hoping in all her heart that now, the timeline is safe.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin avoids her for a month, which is pretty hard – Emma nearly catches him a few times having dinner and spinning at his spindle. With Zelena still stuck in the dungeons, the castle providing her food three times a day and not allowing any visitor but Emma – at Emma’s request – Emma herself can only guess that what changed was seeing Cora’s daughter.

“You can’t hide forever, you know!” Emma yells one evening in front of her fireplace, when she’s just fed up with his cowardly behaviour. “I need to get back to my own time! I need to go!”

“And what if I don’t _want_ you to go?”

Emma jerks, almost falling over her chaise. Rumple stands in front of her open window, a spring rain pattering lightly on the marble windowsill behind him. She goes to speak, but he puts his hand up, obviously having something to say – and despite how angry she is that he’s been avoiding her, Emma wants to hear what he has to say for himself.

“Well?”

Rumple puts his hands behind his back, straightening his back and shoulders as he steps forwards, pacing slowly.

“You are a good student, you pick up on magic well and you put in the effort required. You also understand that I don’t do things for free.” He pauses in place before turning around, resuming his pacing, footsteps faster now. “Our original deal – or rather, deals – were simple. The one pertaining to being my student was made under the term that you tell me to take an antidote to the memory potion I will be imbibing upon your departure, so that I might remember our time together. The other deal…well, we never actually made it official, though we agreed upon the clause that Zelena had to be captured or killed first.”

“Wait, we did! You said you’d help me-”

“We never struck a proper deal, though, Princess,” Rumple interrupts her, facing her now and holding his hand out, a contract unfurling. “I’ve taken the liberty of backdating it, for your sake. It includes our agreement regarding your apprenticeship.”

Emma reaches forwards to take it, but he moves it out of her reach. Emma narrows her eyes. “What now?”

Rumple tilts his head. “What do I get out of sending you back to the future?”

Slightly baffled, Emma blinks, trying to come up with an answer. “Uh…the…the timeline. It doesn’t get any weirder.”

“Not good enough,” he replies and it’s almost like they hadn’t just spent the past year together, almost. “I won’t remember anything until you return, so obviously, information is a little useless…but I want to know. Bae. My Bae. I want you to tell me everything.”

Emma blanches. “Rumple, I can’t do that. That’s too much to ask. He’s your _son-_ ”

“Which is why I should get to know!” Rumple shouts, face twisting, the contract disappearing as he advances on her, reaching up to grip her shoulders. “Tell me! Are you so ashamed of your _own_ son?”

“I’m not ashamed of Henry,” Emma swears, angry. “I could never be ashamed of him – why would you say that?”

“Because you have _never_ said you married Bae,” Rumple states, “so your shared son, my grandson, is a bastard. Bastards are shameful anywhere you go.”

“I’m not ashamed of my son,” Emma glares coldly. “Get your hands off me.”

Rumple lets go of her, but he doesn’t move, still in her personal bubble and radiating dark magic. It makes her feel sick, like tar is drowning her – but it tastes like regret and guilt and Emma knows it’s Rumple projecting. He taught her how to do the same thing, after all. He’s taught her a lot of things.

_He’s going to forget this anyway._

“We met when I was sixteen and fell in love,” Emma starts. “Less than a year later, he left me to fall for a crime he committed. I went to prison and found out I was pregnant. I had our baby with a set of _handcuffs_ railing me to a bed.”

Rumple’s aura instantly disappears, face draining of anger into one of shock. “He abandoned you.”

“Yeah, he did,” Emma says, “I gave Henry up for adoption and Regina was the one who took him in, raised him, gave him his name – and then eleven years later, after I’ve broken the Dark Curse and found my family and enforced dual-custody of Henry on Regina and I both, you call in a favour. You make me find your son and that son turns out to be Neal – the guy who abandoned me.”

Rumple looks conflicted. “And then what? What happens?”

“Neverland. Lots of shit,” Emma can’t help but revel at his flinch. “I want that contract sorted and signed. I’m not telling you anything else. You reunite with your son and that’s all the information you need to know.”

He wrings his hands. “But does he like me? Do we get along?”

“I don’t know, there was a year that everyone but Henry and I were in the Enchanted Forest,” Emma grimaces, knowing she’s slipping too close to the penultimate truth now. “I need our contract to be signed and stuff, Rumplestiltskin.”

“Yes, yes…” Rumple snaps his fingers, distracted, the contract reappearing out of nowhere, blurring before resettling itself. He hands it over and Emma reads over it, having trouble not thinking about how Neal died – how he just _faded_ , sacrificing his own life so his father might live.

Eventually, she finishes reading the contract and after getting him to clarify which memory potion he’d be using, Emma signs, the contract rolling itself up and winking out of existence.

“How are Zelena and I returning to the future, then?”

“The Black Fairy’s wand,” Rumplestiltskin says, clearing his throat. “I’ll just pop over to the Vault and get it.” He disappears, leaving Emma alone. She collapses onto her chaise lounge, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She ends up looking at her feet, kicking off her fur slippers. _I need to get changed into my manufactured clothes…_

“Here we are,” Rumplestiltskin reappears. “Now, to see if you can actually use it.” He chucks a black wand at her, the silver spirals above the handle nearly causing her to drop it. “If you can do it once, you can do it again. The wand is fabled to have the ability to open any kind of portal, so long as the wielder who originally _used_ the portal is the one who _reopens_ it – _and_ if said wielder is magically powerful enough. _You_ , my dear, are powerful enough.”

“Thanks,” Emma gets a grip on the wand, standing again. She can feel the wand’s dark presence, her magic antsy at sensing it. “What do I do?”

“Focus on the first portal that opened,” Rumple instructs, sounding more like himself the more he speaks – almost gleeful, but not quite. A quick glance at him shows him watching on with a pleasant expression.

 _First portal,_ Emma thinks, staring at the wand. She reaches with her magic, holding it strong as it interacts with the wand. _The first portal,_ she thinks, directing the wand to her wishes. Immediately, she can feel it beginning to work, an almost happy feeling emanating from the artefact – but what appears in front of her is no swirling gold-orange portal.

Instead, there’s a diamond – a golden square with a black maw of a heart.

“That’s not my portal,” Emma’s eyes widen, before something- some _one_ flies through.

“Close it!” Rumple cries and Emma does, dropping the wand like it had burned her. The damage is already done, however, the flying creature expanding and staggering to their feet, leaning against Emma’s bedpost. “What have you done?” Rumple questions Emma, disbelieving.

“I don’t know…” Emma swallows, raising the Black Fairy’s wand against the mysterious person – _woman_ , Emma corrects herself a moment later as they turn to face them. She’s dressed in all black, dark brown hair tumbling around her face. Her feather headpiece is particularly unique.

“Where am I? How did you open…” the woman starts to question them, but her eyes fall on the wand. “You aren’t very experienced in magic, are you? This was an accident.”

“It was,” Rumple steps over, in front of Emma, protecting her from whomever she had just let loose. “Who, dearie, might you be?”

“I am the Black Fairy,” the supposed Black Fairy states magnanimously, chin rising forebodingly. “Give me my wand.”

“We’re not that stupid,” Emma says. The fairy eyes her over Rumple’s shoulder, shrugging.

“Who are you both?”

“I am the Dark One and this is my Apprentice. That’s all you need to know,” Rumple replies. “Unfortunately, this was a mistake. Leia, open the portal again.”

“I think not,” Black laughs, before the wand leaves Emma’s hand in a small cloud of black smoke, appearing in the fairy’s hand. “What _were_ you going to use it for, if not to release me?” Emma and Rumple share a single glance, neither saying a word. Black hums, “Well. That was disappointing. You say you are the Dark One…do you have any other name? Perhaps… _Rumplestiltskin?_ ”

“I see my reputation exceeds dimensional walls,” Rumple quips, tilting his head. “There are things at work here you don’t know of.”

“Oh? Like your Apprentice?” Black pouts, stepping forwards, twirling her wand in two fingers. “I watch this realm for fun – time travel, such an _interesting_ concept.” Her pout turns into a glare, however. “But the witch who came with you called you _Saviour._ It would benefit me greatly if you died here, rather than in the future – I’ve waited so long, after all.”

“You are not killing this woman,” Rumplestiltskin says in what Emma recognises as his murder-voice, wincing at the tone. “If you try, I shall kill _you_.”

“You can try, Rumplestiltskin,” the fairy taunts, giggling. “Oh, I can’t wait to see how this ends. Key players being removed from the chessboard-”

“Don’t you care about the structure of the timeline at _all?_ ” Emma interrupts, appalled. The fairy stops laughing to look at her.

“I suppose I do, if it brings you here to die at my hand. The fact that you released me, Saviour, is far more poetic than I realised.”

“Why?” Emma questions. “Why is it poetic?”

“Our fates are intertwined, you see,” the fairy sighs, leaning back against the bedpost, twirling her wand again. “I became this protecting my son, you see. There was a prophecy I wished to stop from happening and, well…”

“You fulfilled it,” Rumple finishes. “What was the prophecy?”

“The usual – that he would face a great evil and be killed. I intended to change his fate and I did, with the Shears of Fate.”

“What are those?” Emma asks, wary. Rumple makes a noise of pique.

“The Shears of Fate are an artefact that cut away destinies. Let me guess – you became the thing that would kill him.”

“Not him, not with the shears,” Black croons, smiling widely and all of sudden, Emma can taste her magic like starburst on her tongue, ashy and cloying, almost physically choking her. “I cut his destiny from him. He was no longer the _Saviour_.”

… _woah, what the hell?_ “The Saviour? I thought that was me, though?” Emma questions.

“It was not meant to be you, apparently,” Rumple sounds as surprised as she is – but his voice goes back to the murder-voice a moment later. “You will not kill this woman, Black Fairy and leave her son motherless, too.”

Something strikes at Emma that his sentence is wrong and the fairy seems to pick up on it as well.

“Do you know something about me?” she queries, clearly intrigued. Rumple snarls, his dagger appearing to hand – the first time Emma has ever seen it, in the past. “What do you plan to do with that?”

“Kill you, if you get close enough.” He glares, before forcing an awesomely fake smile onto his face. “Do you know that when I became the Dark One – really, _truly_ the Dark One – the Blue Fairy visited me? She’d tell me stories about wanting power for powers sake. Do you know-” he steps forwards, climbing up onto the chaise, one foot on the cushion and the other on the edge “- _why_ she used _you_ as an example?”

“I could imagine,” the fairy steps towards him, their eyes locked in what – to Emma – seems to be the magical equivalent of a dick-measuring contest, Rumple’s magic spreading out to meet the fairy’s head on, wrapping around Emma like bubble-wrap, removing the majority of the fairy’s influence on her magical tastebuds. “Why she’d tell you though…why? Why did she?”

“Let me ask you something instead,” Rumple starts, still so riled up it’s odd, “You steal babies. Steal them from their mothers arms. So, why of all the babies, in all the realms…why did you abandon the one child who was actually _yours?_ ”

Emma watches the fairy freeze, smile disappearing, completely freezing in place, looking half in-shock. “No. No, it _can’t_ be.”

Rumplestiltskin jumps off the chaise, standing in front of Black, dagger coming to rest on her pale throat.

“No, I’m afraid it can be…Mother.”

“…holy _shit_ , this is your _mother?_ ” Emma exclaims. “No wonder you’re so fucked up.”

Rumple twists his head back to look at her, glaring, not removing the dagger from it’s spot. “I’m trying to save your life, here, princess. Keep your mouth _shut._ ” He looks back to the fairy – to his mother. “That’s right. Rumplestiltskin is your son. Of course, you would know that, had you bothered to give me a name. Now, you are going to answer my question: why did you abandon me?”

He moves the dagger around her throat a bit, drawing a thin line of blood before he continues. “You already said that you sheared away my true destiny – a coincidence then, that my actions lead to the creation of the next Saviour _after_ me. But, as you may have noticed, I rather like her. She’s also the mother of your grandson, in the future at least. Take these things into consideration.”

The fairy takes time to find her words and they aren’t what Emma expects – which are excuses. Instead, it’s denial.

“I didn’t abandon you. I was banished into that realm the Saviour freed me from. You were there, barely feet from me. Your fairy godmother presumably returned you to Malcolm-”

“Fat lot of good he was. If you were watching, you’d know he abandoned me too, deciding he’d rather be young forever than look after his wee boy.”

“Peter Pan,” Black murmurs.

“Aye, _Peter Pan._ Who banished you? Why?”

“Who else?” the fairy gives a tight smile. “The North Star herself.”

“Blue,” Emma mutters, translating. Rumple doesn’t remove his dagger from the fairy’s neck, however. “You can let her go, Rumple. You got your answers.”

“She’s not sworn an oath against killing you yet, Princess,” he points out. “I don’t care that she’s my mother. At this point I’ll settle at having only my descendants for family.”

 _That’ll make Belle happy,_ Emma thinks sarcastically, before tentatively moving around the chaise. “Do you have a name other than ‘the Black Fairy’?”

“Fiona,” the two dark magic-users say as one.

“…right,” Emma clears her throat. “I honestly have no idea why we’d ever face off. I have no vendetta against you.”

“It’s destiny,” Fiona says, “It will always come to pass, one way or another.”

“You will not kill her,” Rumple says and then he digs in, arm moving in a fast motion that has Emma skidding backwards, eyes going wide in horror as blood gushes from Fiona’s throat to stain her carpet. Emma puts a hand to her mouth, unable to stop staring at the horrific sight. Rumple cleans the blade on her dress as he crouches down, reaching to take a necklace off her neck. Emma feels so ill at the gruesome display though that she can’t even think to try seeing if it’s magical – if it belongs to the Black Fairy or if it’s just plain decoration that Rumple is keeping as a memory.

“Why did you do that?” Emma demands, watching the Dark One stand straight, turning to look at her. “Why would you _do_ that? You just murdered her! Your own mother!”

“It had to be done,” Rumple states. “She would have killed you, Princess. It was her or you.”

“I can deal with threats myself, I don’t need you to go on a slicing spr-” Emma stops herself, stomach churning. “I can’t even say it. Oh my god. No. Just- just _no_. That was too much _way_ too soon.”

“Would you rather be dead?” he questions, as if it’s that simple.

“Redemption is a thing!” Emma snaps, “Changing your mind is a _thing!_ Destiny can change, you just have to be willing to make the effort!”

“Destiny cannot be changed,” he replies. “All things that are meant to happen, happen, one way or another. It might mean a different path or a different Saviour, but destiny can never be broken – if it was, I suspect the worlds would break, too.”

Emma forces her eyes shut, before she reaches out with her magic, summoning the Black Fairy’s wand to hand. Once it is in her grasp, she teleports away from Rumplestiltskin’s castle – as far away as she can. She has no destination in mind – no frame of reference or even a descriptive. Only one word: away.

_Away._

_Away._

Emma appears in a random place and immediately a freezing cold wind buffets her, sending her sprawling, head colliding with rock. She drops the wand, the blow filling her vision with explosive colours. Even through the pain, though, she can remember the Black Fairy – Fiona, Rumplestiltskin’s mother – lying on the floor with her throat cut, dark eyes open and dead to the world. Cold surrounds her and she lays on the ground, wetness seeping through her clothes.

She falls unconscious with the image of her lifeless body staining the forefront of her mind.

* * *

Emma shivers in her sleep first, her body trying to generate heat to stay warm. If Emma weren’t unconscious, she would have teleported out of the snowy mountains as soon as she could get a grasp on her situation – and the mountain wall. Fallen, slowly being covered by falling snow, she’s protected from the winds and ultimately, falling off the cliff path she’s accidentally teleported to.

Hypothermia: not the worst way to go, but it still leads to the eventual death of the hypothermic person in question. When she stops shivering, her metabolism slows and then her heart slows, too, her internal temperature dropping lower and lower the longer she stays on in the cold – not to mention how her brain swells from knocking herself out on a rock, though considering the weather conditions themselves, it could be a lot worse.

Emma is still unconscious when her magic decides _no, my person is not dying like this_ and reaches down, deep into itself to awaken the dragon…literally.

Once upon a time, a man known as the Sorcerer’s Apprentice tricked Snow White and Prince Charming into stealing the unhatched child of Maleficent. ‘Potential for darkness’ this, ‘potential for the light’ that. The Sorcerer’s Apprentice schemed to take the baby dragon’s potential for the light and give it to the unborn Saviour – Snow White’s baby, Princess Emma. In return, Emma’s potential for darkness would be given to the dragon – a girl who would grow up, knowing herself as Lily Page, who can feel something deep inside her that is simply _missing_.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice is a dick, as many sources would tell you. He’s also unversed in dragon magic.

It’s an unforgivable act, but infusing Emma Swan with dragon magic, giving herself that… _soul_ , will save her life, here. Her magic reaches for that slumbering power and wakes it when it’s never supposed to be woken. Her core body temperature rises slowly, as dragon-fire spreads through her insides and makes its home in her, properly. Eventually, the snow begins to steam away around her, soaking into her clothes and creating a clean, neat circle. Then, survival kicks in.

Emma is still unconscious and in need of dire help. Her dragon magic reaches as far as it can, with the help of Emma’s light magic – and that is very, very far indeed. Far enough and _strong_ enough that a happily slumbering dragon, satisfied that her revenge against Briar Rose is complete, is awoken from it as soon as it rolls over her.

Maleficent flies to the mountain at the most northern edge of her kingdom, finding the fallen Saviour, seeing her for what she truly is not: a dragon. Wings keeping her aloft, Maleficent scoops Emma into her claws and flies for her castle, bringing her into her hall in humanoid form and laying her by the fire. Emma’s magics, dragon and light together, find themselves satisfied with the rescue and retreat into their owner.

But Emma Swan does not wake.

* * *

_ Storybrooke - The Present _

“The portal closed itself,” David describes, gripping Emma’s phone tight, “presumably, when Emma went through it.”

“She could be anywhere,” Snow worries, holding onto his arm as he nods. Regina, hands on her hips as she walks about the shop, adds.

“Any- _when_ , too. Emma could be anywhere in time and space.”

“It’s all really _Star Trek_ ,” Henry notes, far from worried. “Ma will find her way back to us.”

“What’s _Star Trek?_ ” Hook queries.

“It’s a TV show set in space, it’s pretty cool,” Henry describes simply.

 _I hope she’s okay,_ Regina thinks to herself privately, before Robin loops an arm through hers, stopping her stress-pacing. Sinking into his side, Regina accepts that same arm twisting around her to hold her against his side gently.

“Well, whatever she’s done so far, it hasn’t affected the present, that we know of,” Rumple states, with Belle in a much-similar pose to Regina and Robin. “I don’t think we would even be aware of any changes, if they _did_ happen. Only Sheriff Swan would…” he trails off, suddenly looking at the space in front of the door.

Regina glances back, blinking rapidly as she sees a faint projection of someone. “Who is that?” Regina questions, scrutinising them. They aren’t wearing any uniform she’s familiar with, their cloak – _and that is a cloak, not a coat_ – going just past their waist, hood covering their face from sight.

“What do you see?” Robin questions, confused.

“Only Regina and I can see her,” Rumple replies. Regina wants to know why Rumple is calling them _her_ , but quickly, his question is answered as they flip their hood down. Regina’s eyes widen as Rumple comments lightly, “Oh my. Now, that is a strange happening.”

“What do you see?” Robin repeats.

“An astral projection,” Rumple answers, “A difficult magic for novices, it seems that Sheriff Swan has discovered it in her little trip through time.”

Regina leans further into Robin, craning to hear as Emma says something, voice barely audible.

“I’m afraid you are barely able to be heard, Sheriff,” Rumple apologises. “Only Regina and I can see you.”

Emma’s projection looks to Regina and all of a sudden, her projection is in full colour and solidity. The change startles her – it’s as if she’s there in the room with them, rather than far away in another time and place.

“Regina, can you hear me?”

“I can hear you, Emma,” Regina confirms, looking her up and down. “Are you in the Enchanted Forest?” Emma glances down, frowning. As Regina looks at her longer, she realises why. “Are you caught in a rainstorm?”

“No, I don’t know why…I was knocked out. I don’t understand how I’m here,” Emma says. “I didn’t even come through a portal. How am I in the pawnshop?”

“You’re projecting yourself,” Regina explains patiently, “It’s called astral projection. You’re not really here – your mind is reaching out to what’s familiar. How did you get knocked out?”

“I got thrown against a wall. Mountain. Rock?” Emma frowns. “Something like that.”

“Very nice, Miss Swan,” Regina hums. “How long have you been in the past?”

“Can she see us?” Henry interjects, coming out from between David and Hook, Emma’s head snapping in his direction. An instant later, the bottom of Regina’s stomach drops out as she sees a familiar look on Emma’s face – so longing and heartbroken, her hand rising to her mouth.

“Henry,” she says in a broken voice.

“She can see you,” Regina replies to Henry’s question, shaken by Emma’s reaction. “Emma, how long have you been in the past?”

“I-” Emma starts, before shaking her head. “Too fucking long, Regina. Are you sure there’s no way for him to see me, too?”

“No, Miss Swan,” Rumple answers in her place. “You should return to your body as soon as possible. Astral projection is a complex magic and should not be taken lightly.”

Emma visibly tears herself away from staring at Henry as she answers. “I don’t know how and if it’s you telling me, I don’t want to know.”

Regina frowns. “Why not?” Emma flinches, recoiling slightly and immediately, Regina glares fiercely at the imp. “What the hell did you do?”

“May I remind you that if I and Sheriff Swan interacted in the past,” Rumple shifts, brows knitting together, “then I won’t remember it. I’m not an idiot, I would have taken a forgetting potion.”

“You still did whatever you forgot,” Regina says, putting up an angry front – but inwardly, she’s fearful. What could he have done that was so bad that Emma Swan would flinch? Rumple himself grimaces, wordlessly conceding. _At least we’re still on the same wavelength,_ she thinks reluctantly _._

“It’s not something we should get into,” Emma says quietly, causing Regina to look back at her with an even deeper frown than before.

“Why the hell not? I don’t hear you defending him.”

“It’s…” Emma shakes her head, “it’s none of anyone’s business but his and mine. I’ll get over it, eventually, but it happened less than five minutes ago, or something like that.”

“Less than-” Regina brings her hands up, gripping Robin’s jacket for lack of other option. “And now you’re unconscious, astral projecting, probably because Rumplestiltskin did something that has traumatised you and is causing you to _literally_ have an out-of-body experience.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Emma snaps, scowling. “If you want to talk about traumatising stuff, then I can easily tell you about the time I walked in on he and your mother fucking on his dining room table.”

“They _what?_ ” Regina exclaims, horrified and then mortified, looking to Rumple – who seemingly chokes on air. “The hell, Gold?”

“I- I see you’re in a very auspicious time period, Sheriff,” Rumplestiltskin stutters, flushing. Belle frowns, narrowing her eyes.

“What did Emma say?”

“I am not going to repeat what she said on my _life,_ ” Regina hisses, making a face. “I had _dinner_ at that table with you.”

“That could imply a lot of things about the Dark One’s dinner table,” Hook says, sounding disturbed.

“Can we stop talking about what we did on my table, please?” Rumple pleads, Emma snorting.

“Not on your life – this is hilarious,” Emma looks to Regina again, “You know the sofa set in the library?”

“Yes,” Regina replies warily.

“I had to threaten to burn it so they wouldn’t-”

“Stop!” Regina interrupts, throwing up a hand, “I get the picture! Is voyeurism the only thing you’ve been doing in the past?”

“No,” Emma replies, obviously very amused by her reaction. Regina chances a look at Rumple, who looks severely ashamed of himself, Belle muttering questions at him. “I’ve also been learning magic and acting as a bodyguard. You’re a cute baby, Regina.”

“…excuse me, did you just say what I thought you just said?” Regina questions, disbelieving.

“You’re a cute baby, Regina,” Emma replies, grinning widely.

“I can’t believe this,” Regina blinks, trying to imagine Emma Swan having seen her as a young, _young_ child.

“Not as cute as Rumple going all sappy over you,” Emma points at him, then, “he held you for like, an hour basically right after you were born after Zelena tried assassinating you.”

Regina hadn’t been prepared for the embarrassing and frankly, slightly heart-warming part – but she hadn’t expected the latter half of the sentence at all. “What do you mean, _Zelena?_ She’s in the past with you?”

“But Zelena’s dead,” David points out. “She committed suicide.”

“Actually,” Emma pauses, looking at Rumple, who meets her eyes long enough to make Regina suspicious, “actually…I have her, captive. She’s a bit vocal on the whole _supposed death_ thing.”

“You have her captive, where?” Regina questions, transposing a little so the non-magic people in the room can understand.

Emma grimaces. “Rumple’s castle. I don’t really want to be there right now though.”

“Well, you should, if that’s where Zelena’s held,” Regina states. “Rumple can help you get back to the present – can’t you, Rumple?”

“I can,” he confirms, clearing his throat. “Have I told you my best idea, yet?”

“I have the wand already, thanks,” Emma frowns, looking at her gloved hands. “So, what comes with you, when you astral project? Just what you’re wearing?”

“And holding,” Regina adds, seeing where this might be going. “What wand can help you get home?”

“The Black Fairy’s wand, which isn’t in my hand – I must have dropped it before I went unconscious,” Emma grimaces. “I should probably wake up, now.”

“You probably should,” Regina agrees reluctantly. She has so many questions, but Emma can answer them all when she returns – astral projection isn’t safe, even for Masters of the gift. She’s reads enough books telling horror stories about witches being slain while their minds were away to know.

“Imagine yourself in your body. Shut your eyes and will yourself to the centre of yourself – find where your magic lives, if that helps you focus,” Rumple directs her quietly.

Emma purses her lips, but shuts her eyes, face going slack. Regina is slightly surprised by that, used to her frowns as she struggles to gain control. But a moment later, Emma is gone, as if she’d never been there.

“Is she still here?” Snow questions.

“No, she’s gone,” Regina says. “That was unexpected. Astral projection is difficult – I never managed it once, in all my training.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Rumple adds, the reminder that he exists causing Regina to grimace.

“When were you acquainted with my mother, then? How long must Emma have been in the past to have seen the baby me, then?”

Rumple shifts, clearing his throat gently. “I knew your mother immediately prior to her wedding. We spent a lot of time together between her engagement and the ceremony.”

“Hoh, Dark One, now that is something, cuckolding a prince’s fiancée,” Hook raises an eyebrow.

“We were in love,” Rumple snaps. “In any case, it doesn’t matter now. My love-life is none of your business, pirate, not anymore.”

“Still sore over Milah, crocodile? The way I see it, you got over her, what with the multiple loves you’ve had your long life.”

Rumple goes to surge forwards, but Belle holds him back, “Don’t cave to his pettiness, Rumple.”

“I agree,” Regina purses her lips, “we have better things to do than fight. Emma will find her way back to us, but she’ll come with Zelena in tow. We need a way to contain her.”

“If Emma has managed to keep her thus far in the past, then it should be no hardship for her to replicate her methods in the present,” Rumple replies, austere and cold. “If you would vacate my shop now, it would be appreciated.”

“Gladly,” Hook grimaces, leaving first, quickly followed by Snow and David. Henry goes as well, but Regina slinks out from under Robin’s arm as he moves too. At the questioning look on his face, Regina shakes her head.

“I need to talk to Rumple.”

“I’ll take Henry home, then, pick up Roland from Little John,” Robin gives her a short kiss goodbye. Regina smiles into it, happy at having someone, having her _soulmate_ – her happy ending finally within reach. He leaves, hand coming to rest on Henry’s shoulder as they leave the pawnshop. Regina waits until the door has shut to turn around, facing Belle and Gold.

“A word, if you will – privately,” she says the last bit to Belle, who looks suspiciously between them.

“Is this about Cora?”

“Unfortunately,” Regina tucks her hands into her jacket pockets, adjusting her posture.

“Right…” Belle shakes her head before looking to Rumple. “I’m going to go talk to my father about tonight and ask Archie to officiate.”

 _Officiate?_ Regina raises a questioning eyebrow, watching Rumple smile widely at her words, agreeing. They kiss goodbye, Belle’s hand on his cheek before she leaves, nodding to Regina cordially on her way out. When the door is shut and they’re left alone, the last ring of the bell fading into silence, Regina finds she doesn’t know what to say.

“I don’t know,” is what _he_ says. “For all we know, Emma changed the past already and rendered it null, or insured it.”

“Would things have been different, if you did know for sure?” Regina asks, reluctant.

“Most definitely, if I was your father,” Rumplestiltskin says, gripping his cane tightly. Regina’s hands clench into fists inside her pockets. “You never would have cast the Dark Curse, for one – you never would have grown up with Cora.”

“Why?”

“Our contract,” Rumple steps forwards, nerves palpable. “Cora and I were in love. She ripped out her own heart because she chose ambition. Love was getting in the way of things. Our contract was that I was to have her firstborn child and then, we changed it to _our_ child. That never happened, that I know of. I have no idea if you’re my daughter, though I know you were supposedly premature by two months.”

“I see,” Regina swallows, the possibilities swirling around her head. _None of this would have happened – or it would’ve a different way. Zelena would have been Emma’s great adversary, probably, or another sibling of mine born to be Queen – or King, I suppose._ “I would have grown up with you as a father, if you had known for certain.”

“You would have. Perhaps Emma will change time enough yet,” he finishes and Regina closes her eyes, for she doesn’t know if she wants it to be true or not.

_My old mentor, my friend – and in another life, my father._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this update: the sort-of-seduction of Emma Swan happens, a potions mishap creates some long-term consequences and are we back in Storybrooke by the end of 10,000 words? Maybe. For ten seconds, that is.

The other dragon is…young. Maleficent can’t remember how to recognise other dragons, not properly – it’s been so long since she met another one, even just in passing. The dragon in front of her is stuck in a feminine humanoid form, blonde hair tumbling down her back with gaunt, pale flesh stretched across her bones. 

 _I saved her life,_ Maleficent thinks, ghosting her hand over the other dragon’s cheek, leaning on her other hand as she sits beside the unconscious dragon.  _Her magic was eating away at her, trying to stay alive. She’s still adjusting to the difference in output power – I can see it writhing under her skin. Truly, she must have been out there for a long time to have been reduced so far, physically._  

Dragons aren’t human, no matter what they look like at times. Maleficent prefers her humanoid form, except when she’s sleeping or flying – but keeping that humanoid form most of the time doesn’t make her any less of a dragon. This dragon that Maleficent had rescued is so very, very weak from her time unconscious and freezing. She almost seems  _human_ , how drained she is. 

 _Our kind aren’t built for the cold. Honestly, this is why I should move south…but well, then I’d have to defend my territory and I’m too lazy for that._ Maleficent’s castle is in the depths of a freezing mountain range, the nearest human settlement a tiny kingdom at the very most northern edge of her territory. At the southern edge, there is the Dark One’s Dark Castle, but neither bothers the other very often at all – though Maleficent often finds herself amused by the latest Dark One, Rumplestiltskin, when she’s not trying to get him to leave her alone. 

The other dragon shuffles a little, before her eyes open. Maleficent finds herself mesmerised by the unusual green colour of them, having expected the dragon’s signature magic to flash through before she settled either as a humanoid or returned to full draconic form. 

“…where am I?” she asks quietly, voice hoarse. She looks around, eyes falling on Maleficent. “What happened?” 

It surprises Maleficent that she’d choose to speak a human language, but she answers her questions as well as she can. 

“This is my castle. Your magic drew me to where you were dying, in the mountain range. I rescued you and brought you here to warm up and heal. You’re lucky – your internal flame kept you warm.” 

“My flame…” the dragon sits up slowly from where Maleficent had laid her on a pelt by the fireplace. “I can feel it. It’s…strange. Inside my magic.” 

“It was severely depleted,” Maleficent says gently, grimacing on her behalf. “You’re fine now. You just need time. What is your name?” 

“…Leia. Leia Gold,” she says and it’s so obviously not true. “You?” 

“I’ll keep my name to myself, like you have,” Maleficent says amusedly, reaching out to hold her chin gently, Leia’s eyes widening in surprise rather than in disapproval at her action. Breathing in deeply, Maleficent feels a stirring in her gut, draconic hindbrain roaring to life.  _Oh,_  she thinks, realising abruptly that this dragon – this very dragon who Maleficent has rescued – is her  _mate._  

She breathes again, taking in her scent and almost swaying at the headiness that follows. Leia is  _intoxicating_ , but Maleficent restrains herself for the moment. Leia obviously hasn’t scented it yet and Maleficent has a moment where she recognises in  _herself_  that she sees this other dragon as young. Listening to that part of her, Maleficent decides mating can wait and though her hindbrain protests, Maleficent thinks  _I’m no brute, I can turn this into more than just mating._  

Of course, Leia could refuse the mating, though Maleficent thinks this might be a truer mating than most – Maleficent has felt the urge before, centuries ago with a different dragon, but she’d ignored it, too busy scouting out the very mountains she’d ended up making her home. This urge though is…magical, or rather, more magical than useful.  _A true bond,_  Maleficent thinks, before she hears Leia’s stomach rumble. 

“Hungry?” she questions, letting go of her chin. “I have fresh venison.” 

“Uh, soup and bread would be good,” Leia mutters, looking slightly dazzled, blinking rapidly. Maleficent gets to her feet, wondering why she would want human food when being offered freshly killed, fat, bloody venison. “Do you have those?” 

“I can make arrangements,” Maleficent clicks her fingers, summoning whatever banquet has been prepared for Stefan in his fancy palace as he mopes over his missing princess.  _My revenge was sweet and eternal_ , she thinks viciously as a feast of food appears on her nearby dining table. Leia looks over at it, standing before stumbling over her own feet to hide behind a chair with red cheeks, obviously unaware until then that her clothes were gone. 

“They were soaked,” Maleficent answers her unspoken question, pointing at the fireplace, her trousers, tunic, undergarments and cloak all hanging from a string. Leia’s boots, she had placed at the feet of the fireplace, close enough to dry but far enough not to catch alight. “Nudity is no issue here. There is no-one else in this castle. I live alone.” 

“Alright, Pam,” Leia murmurs, almost to herself. Maleficent raises an eyebrow at the nickname, watching Leia as she crosses her arms over her breasts and speed-walks to the table, picking out a selection of foods before returning to where she’d lain, pulling the woollen blanket over her bare form. “I’m not comfortable with nudity.” 

 _I wonder why,_ Maleficent thinks as Leia eats, thinking back on what little interaction they’d had.  _Perhaps she spends her time with humans. She eats human food, speaks human language…_  Maleficent decides to try something, to test her reaction. 

“ ** _Do you speak draconic tongue?_** ” she questions in a deep growl that makes Leia startle and look around wildly. 

“Do you have dog, or something?” 

 _Very interesting._  Maleficent frowns. “It was the wind. This castle is quite magical. It affects the boundaries and the small spaces.”  _Which is true. But that was me, not the wind._  Leia frowns too – seemingly picking up on Maleficent’s lie. 

She doesn’t say anything about it, however, just narrowing her eyes. “Thanks for the food. It isn’t poisoned or anything?” 

“It shouldn’t be. If it is, I give my deepest apologies,” Maleficent replies cordially.  _Not that human poisons could kill us anyway._ _Though, it would be a shame if I deprived an assassin Stefan’s death._  

"...right. So, where exactly  _is_  this castle?" Leia questions. 

"Far north," Maleficent answers. "Why were you unconscious on a mountain-top?" 

Leia swallows her mouthful of bread, shaking her head, "Teleportation accident. I didn't have a destination in mind. I just wanted to...go away. Mr Gold, he-" Leia cuts herself off, frowning slightly before continuing slowly. "Mr Gold murdered someone in front of me. I was trying to talk them around from their decision-" 

"Why did he kill them?" Maleficent raises an eyebrow, connecting several points about this 'Leia' in her mind.  _Mr Gold_  could be her caretaker, maybe a human, defending her perhaps – she used his last name as a fake alias, so Leia's relationship with him is obviously complicated. 

"She was going to kill me," Leia says awkwardly, tugging a blanket around her shoulder a little more, fingers catching on a stray lock of blonde. She tugs on it lightly, eyes drifting to it, her frown only deepening. "Mr Gold isn't very...stable, sometimes. His moral compass isn't good at staying in the right. I shouldn't be telling you all this." 

Maleficent hums in disagreement, "Oh, no, please – speak your mind. I don't often see others; this castle is very isolated. Lonely." She can feel her castle's subtle magics reaching out, actually, trying to feel the new presence – Leia Gold, an unknown – but staying at the very edge of her magical presence.  _My castle knows what I am like though. It doesn't want to provoke_ _an_ _unknown dragon and risk_ _full destruction_ _...again_ _._ "Can you feel it? It's shy." 

Leia furrows her brow before closing her eyes and then, Maleficent feels her magic reaching out, a  _beacon_  of light. It feels like the softness of feather-down and the static in the air preceding a lightning strike, laced with noble courage and an oxymoronic steadfastness that is like an ever-changing, fast-flowing river; Maleficent breathes her in, eyes drifting shut in a light surprise as her presence washes over her. Leia obviously feels what she is, her magic wavering, one part of it meeting the castle and welcoming it and the other hesitating around her form, prodding and poking like a child. 

"What are you?" Leia asks in confusion. 

... _what?_  Maleficent opens her eyes. "What did you just ask me?" 

"What are you?" Leia repeats and Maleficent clenches her jaw, hands gripping the carpet, ripping it as her draconic strength leaks through into her humanoid form. Leia's eyes widen at the sight, hand gripping the blanket locked around her even tighter than before. "You feel... _beastly._ " 

"I am a dragon of renown and so are you," Maleficent says, voice clipped. 

Leia immediately shakes her head. "I'm not. I-" she pauses, hand splaying over her chest. "Wait, is that what the fire in my magic is? What have you done to me?" 

"I saved your life," Maleficent narrows her eyes. "And I did not ignite the flame inside you, before you ask. Are you a hybrid?" 

"A what, now?" 

"Half-human, half-dragon," Maleficent clarifies, pushing off the floor and standing tall. "You must have awoken your heritage, being so close to death as you  _must_  have been." 

 _I have miscalculated,_  she thinks, berating herself.  _Leia was a human – a simple, magical human until her awry teleportation. She is a dragon now,_ _though._ _She will understand nothing about her true heritage._ Maleficent's eyes train on the bloodline on her wrist – the lyon flower that belonged to no dragon line in her memory.  _I must check my records. Unless she is from a new branch, or an exceptionally_ ** _old_** _branch brought back to life, I have forgotten what bloodline takes a_ _lyon_ _flower as its symbol._  

"But my parents aren't dragons," Leia protests, "they're human. Completely and totally human, unless they're hiding something from me." 

"Being a hybrid doesn't mean on of your parents are dragons, it means your dragon blood has been diluted. Children and grandchildren of dragons are  _always_  dragons," Maleficent explains, becoming even more angry at herself than before.  _This is a child, by draconic standards – it doesn't matter that she's reached maturity by human standards. She won't be able to make an informed decision_ _when my scent reaches her._ "Their descendants, however, when marred by human blood, are not." 

"So," Leia hesitates, "my  _ancestor_  was a dragon?" 

"Most likely," Maleficent says, "and obviously, you have no-one other than I to teach you our ways. You will stay here, until you have." 

"Excuse me?" Leia narrows her eyes. 

"You will stay here," Maleficent copies her, glaring. She snaps her fingers, the castle wards bending and the doors locking – loudly. Leia stands, placing her plate on her chair, waving her hand. The blanket disappears, her clothes reappearing on her figure. She twists on her ankle, but the teleportation doesn't happen. "Wards," Maleficent answers her furious face. 

"Let me out!" Leia growls, eyes flashing a bright white.  _A true light witch,_  Maleficent thinks.  _She'll grow out of that, eventually – no-one is truly light or dark and dragons are neutral in all affairs, anyway. Grey magic will suit her, I think._  

"Eventually," Maleficent says, stepping closer to her. Leia matches her, but summons a fireball to hand that turns blue with heat – obviously surprising the other dragon as she lets it disappear in fright. "You're a dragon, now. Did you really expect fire not to come to you naturally?" 

"...what does all this mean? Who are you?" Leia asks, subdued and disturbed, looking at her hand in wariness. 

"It means that you need a teacher and as the only other dragon in this realm," Maleficent says smugly, "the duty falls on me. I haven't worked with another dragon in  _centuries._ " 

"I need to go home," Leia says, voice shaking. "I was nearly ready to go home. I've been stuck here over a year and I was going to go  _home_." She falls silent and a quiet takes over the room – Maleficent has nothing to say to that and so she doesn't say anything. 

But in her mind, she thinks _she can feel it, finally_  – because Leia stiffens, nostrils flaring as her eyes widen, Maleficent's scent finally hitting her now they're close again. She sways slightly, taking a step into Maleficent's space and Mal...well, she thinks of morals and ethics.  _She's not_ ** _really_** _a child. I'm being pedantic. Hybrids age like humans, anyway. I think. She's not a hatchling..._  

"What the hell am I doing?" Leia mumbles, eyes locked on Maleficent – and the elder dragon shuts her eyes and winces. 

"Nothing, you're doing nothing," Maleficent brings her human hands up, pressing them to Leia's shoulders, holding her at arms lengths even as her own instincts shout at her to  _take her, mark her, hold her, mark her, mark her, make the bond,_ ** _make the bond-_**  "This is part of what you don't know. You need to reign yourself in. Start by pulling your magic into yourself – it should help clear your head." 

Almost immediately, that  _feather-down, static, noble, steadfastness_  retreats into Leia again. It locks up tight inside her small form and there is a moment of clarity that spreads across Leia's face, before it bundles up even further, hiding even her dragon flame. The only way Maleficent can feel Leia's magic is through the physical connection of her hands on Leia's shoulders – but even that ends, disappearing as Leia steps back several paces. 

"What the  _hell_  was that?" 

Maleficent licks her lips.  _Time to educate my new student, it seems, on the mating habits of dragons._  

* * *

Three weeks into Emma's arrival at the castle à la the Mysterious Dragon Lady – who, in Emma's mind, is called  _Pam_  because she looks so much like Pam Swynford De Beaufort from  _True Blood_  – she can't bear the call any longer. It's a constant draw and Emma finds her feet taking her right back to Pam in the main hall whenever she's exploring. When they're near, she finds their elbows brushing and it is embarrassing, because Pam moves away whenever she gets overly touchy. 

Though, of  _course_  that's her biggest problem – it's not like Emma's a dragon now, is she? 

 _I seriously have to ask Snow and David when I get back which of their ancestors got it on with a dragon,_  she thinks as she sits down opposite Pam with a thump, book slamming on the side table. Pam's eyes open slowly, flashing purple. 

"That book is over two hundred years old and one of the only surviving copies." 

"The Dark One has six copies in his library," Emma replies bluntly. "I want to talk about this mating thing." 

"It would be good practice for you to break it on your own," Pam replies airily. Emma rolls her eyes. 

"That's a great excuse – though I think you don't want me to break it, do you?" 

"...not really," Pam shrugs. "We're dragons. There's not many of us left." 

 _Right. We. Us. Because I'm a dragon. Right._  "That doesn't give you an excuse not to break this... _thing_ , on your end." Emma states. "Do you want to get laid? Because if we break this, then I'd be all for it – you're hot." 

"Obviously, I'm a dragon," Pam replies, the compliment completely going over her head as she leans forwards. "But I think you've misread the situation. I also think your priorities are in need of reorganisation. This is as much part of your dragon life education as anything else I've taught you – breaking it or following through, that's your choice. I'd have a preference to the latter, however." 

"Great," Emma says, but inwardly she can't help but think of what she did last week – turning into a dragon and back, which  _had_  led to an awkward instance where she hugged Pam in elation and then didn't let go for a few minutes. Apparently, they're both doomed to awkward silence and waiting for the other to do something when Emma makes a mistake. 

But yes, she  _had_  turned into a dragon. At least she was learning something other than dragon culture – which she thinks is useless, except when she interacts with Pam. It's not like she'll meet any other dragons with how far spread across the realms they are...  _I've probably jinxed myself, by thinking that._  

"What would be the harm in actually bonding with me?" Pam asks, sounding genuine – and hurt, though she hides it well. 

"I don't know you, for a start," Emma sighs. "When you explained it all to me...dragon bonds are sacred and there isn't real privacy, unless the distance is- is basically  _astronomical_. I haven't even told you my name." 

 _Also, you compared it to human_ ** _marriage_** _._  Emma isn't willing to say that out loud, though. 

"I told you that this bond would be different," Pam says, "I can feel it. It's why I was so hesitant to reject it, originally. It's...destiny." 

"I don't believe in destiny." 

"Your first mistake," the dragon replies quietly, closing her eyes and returning to her sleep. Emma watches her for a little while, before taking her book – gently – and opening it up to where she'd saved her place. The pull is gentler now than it was before, still wanting her closer to the woman, but it's almost...content, at their talk. 

 _She's so lonely,_ Emma thinks.  _I wonder if this is what Maleficent and Regina's friendship is like, in the future, before_ _Storybrooke_ _. I hope this isn't Maleficent._ Emma winces at the thought – it would be unfair to take advantage of Pam's kindness in teaching her if she were actually Maleficent, who Emma will slay in the future, in Storybrooke. 

Sighing to herself, Emma reads the chapter in her book involving how to astral project, memorising the passage. Once she's confident in knowing how to do it, the lines blurring from so many times she's read them, Emma closes her eyes and reaches inside herself. Her magic feels like a cloud of static at first, nipping and wary, before it welcomes her with open arms. 

The book – the one on astral projection, not Henry's Book, which she accidentally left in the Dark Castle – had described the first journey into your magic as 'unnatural', stating that when you looked at your own magic, you never entered the heart of it – only watched from the sidelines. Emma now, can understand why they used the word 'unnatural', because really, she can understand completely. Her mind is not where it's meant to be, yet that place is familiar. Her magic knows her and she knows it – it's  _Emma_. 

The next step, after she's been enveloped by her own magic, feeling the fiery inside which has only grown stronger and stronger since its appearance, Emma imagines the place and time she wants to see. Her magic fluctuates before she feels something not dissimilar to being catapulted, her mind materialising in her parents' loft. 

Emma looks around, feeling a pang of longing. It's as if she's standing there, in the room. Across in the bed, her parents are sleeping peacefully and then, Emma sees her baby brother. Heart soaring suddenly, Emma goes over, greedily taking in the sight of him. Little Neal slumbers soundly, head tilted sideways, drooling in his sleep. 

"Hey, baby," she whispers, reaching out with a phantasmal hand to stroke his nose. Surprisingly, she can feel him – she doesn't just pass through him like a ghost, like the book said she would. Neal even snuffles, moving slightly so her finger isn't touching him anymore.  _Is it because we're brother and sister? Because we're children of True Love?_  

Watching Prince Neal for a little longer, Emma eventually decides to go see her own baby. Shifting place, to Henry's room, Emma's startled to find Regina sitting at the end of his bed by his feet, watching him sleep. 

"Regina?" She calls, focussing on the other witch, feeling rather than seeing herself become more solid. Startling slightly, Regina twists her head in her direction, blinking. 

"Miss Swan?" The other witch whispers. 

 _Still not used to that,_ Emma thinks. "Yeah, it's me. How are you?" 

"Good. It's been a day and a half since your last visit," Regina states. 

"Right," Emma frowns. "At least I know it works." 

"What works?" 

"Choosing my destination," Emma replies, watching Regina purse her lips and stand, keeping care not to wake Henry. 

"Roland is in the guest room. Robin is expecting me to come back to bed, soon. Meet me downstairs in the living room," she instructs. 

"Are you sure? It's like, ten at night," Emma murmurs, unable to help it considering their sleeping son in his bed.  _Maybe he can feel me too, like Neal._  

Regina shrugs, retying her silk dressing gown. Emma chances a glance at her bare legs, biting the inside of her mouth to stop herself from gaping. Rather than materialising in the living room, Emma walks with Regina, who spares her a glance, eyebrow raised as she stops outside her own door. 

"A little privacy, Miss Swan?" 

"Oh- sorry, I'll just..." Emma goes downstairs, embarrassed. She waits a few minutes, crossing her arms as she looks at the pictures on the mantle-piece. When Regina reappears, she's tied her long hair up into a bun and is wearing a large, round-necked jumper that is obviously Robin's rather than her dressing gown. "Sorry again, about..." 

Regina waves her off, going to sit on the sofa, curling her legs up underneath her. At her motion, Emma joins her, tentatively setting herself down on her pristine furniture. 

"You're astral projecting, Miss Swan," Regina says, seeing her hesitation. "You can't do anything here, in the physical world. Is your body safe?" 

"A friend is watching over me," Emma murmurs. 

"A trustworthy friend?" 

"They want to marry me, not kill me," Emma jokes. 

Regina raises an eyebrow. "They  _what_ , Miss Swan? How long have you been in the past?" 

At her latter question, Emma tenses. "That's not important," she says, even though her answer is  _over a year._  Clearing her throat, Emma forces herself to smile, "And yeah, they want to marry me. I'm kind of captive in their castle. It's fun though – they've been teaching me more about magic, different stuff from what Rumple's been teaching me." 

"That doesn't sound safe," Regina says, obviously concerned. "You should return to your body-" 

"I'm safe, Regina," Emma says. "She wouldn't harm me." 

"She? Who is this person, anyway?" Regina questions. 

"...we haven't told each other our real names," Emma admits, seeing a flinty fury appear on Regina's face. "But! But, I  _am_  safe. Things are just...okay, I know it's dangerous, but she really,  _really_  wouldn't hurt me. She's been alone for years and she just wants someone to stay in her life." 

"Which is exactly why you shouldn't astral project, Emma!" Regina hisses, furious. "This woman could be unstable, she could do  _anything_  to your body while you're here!" 

"She wouldn't do that," Emma argues, angry on Pam's behalf. "I've been here with her for weeks, now and she hasn't done anything without asking me first." 

Regina's anger abruptly drains away. "Weeks?" Emma's eyes widen. "You've been in the past for  _weeks?_  Emma, why haven't you come home, yet? Last time you were here, you were ready to come home – you even had Zelena captive, as much as that surprises me." 

"I...things happened. Rumple murdered someone for me, to keep me safe. I teleported away and kind of got myself lost in a mountain range. That's why I was soaking wet when I astral projected the first time – I was unconscious," Emma explains. "Pam saved my life. I just haven't...left, yet." 

"But, why?" Regina questions, baffled. 

Emma looks at her hands, tugging at her fingers as she tries to come up with an answer that isn't  _Pam won't let me._  However, after a moment of thinking, something occurs to her.  _Do I even want to come back right now? I'm in the past – it's been over a year and only a day has passed since I left in_ _Storybrooke_ _. I could just...stay. Go back to_ _Storybrooke_ _later – I could finish this dragon education stuff without worrying about returning so quickly._  

"Emma?" 

Emma looks up at Regina, hesitant to speak at all. A moment later, however, she feels that familiar pull that makes her want to get near Pam. Blinking at the strength of it, Emma's brow furrows as she feels... _desperation? What?_  

"I have to go," she says to Regina, who doesn't even get the chance to speak before Emma returns to herself, reaching inside and soaring back into her body, snapping her eyes open to see Pam in front of her, shaking her shoulders. 

"Leia?  _Leia_ ," Pam asks, sounding distraught. "You're finally awake. I thought you were lost in yourself – what did you do?" 

"I was visiting a friend," Emma says, before realising she's  _starving,_ pain radiating from her stomach. " _Ugh,_ oh my god, I'm starving." 

"As you would be – it's been days," Pam says, before pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. Emma blinks in surprise, reciprocating the hug after a few moments, feeling the ever-present pull. Pam is projecting strongly, she realises, probably to get her attention, to pull her back. 

"I was astral projecting," Emma mutters. 

"I figured, once I saw the book you were reading," Pam says, voice muffled. They're still hugging and Emma can feel the pull, but it's  _Pam_  who's reaching out, who's probably feeling the brunt of it. Emma's instincts even warn her as Pam starts sniffing at her neck, like some goddamn vampire.  _I've got to stop this, before she does something she'll regret later._  

Forcing them apart, Emma pushes Pam away gently, standing up and nearly falling to the ground before getting a hold of herself. Pam's eyes are wide, like she's high and Emma thinks again about staying longer than she should.  _I risk the timeline every second I stay..._  

Except, Regina's already been born and she's safe. Zelena is locked up and Rumple is moping over Cora – which he undoubtedly did in the original timeline. 

 _I need to know if this is Maleficent,_ Emma decides, because knowing she's killed that specific dragon in the future would make a bond to that same dragon completely unfair. 

"My name is Emma," she says. Pam blinks once, slowly, before her head tilts. 

"My name is Maleficent." 

 _Oh no,_  Emma immediately thinks, wincing. "Right. This can't happen." She motions between them both and feels Maleficent's magic around her shudder. "Tell me how to break this." 

"Why?"  _And now she's heartbroken. Why is this so hard? We barely even know each other._  

"Stuff. Stuff I can't tell you, Maleficent." Emma says, pulling her magic inwards, trying to ignore how Pam's emotions-  _Maleficent's_ emotions are projecting, currently. Teleporting to the library – because teleportation within the castle is fine, just not to the outside of it – Emma goes to the draconic magic section immediately, aiming for a memory potion that will work on a dragon. 

 _I shouldn't have told her my name. I_ _need her_ _to forget me._  

* * *

"Emma," Maleficent tastes the name on her tongue, loving how it rings out in the empty hall, echoing. It feels  _right_  and  _true_. The mating bond yet to be solidified wants and cries for her. Maleficent wonders if she should reject it, sever it before Emma learns how. All her excuses not to before don't hold, now she knows that Emma is serious – she could hear it in her voice, a regretful surety that wouldn't be able to be swayed. 

The castle around her – her castle, her Forbidden Fortress – tries to make her feel better, wafting the scent of books at her and the scent of Emma.  _She's in the library_ , Maleficent thinks, wanting to know why but at the same time, not wanting to go anywhere near the other dragon.  _Emma heard my name and knew that this could not happen._  

It irks her for reasons unknown. "Why?" Maleficent frowns, thinking it over, ignoring the castle when it tells her Emma is in her potions lab. She broods and thinks, hours passing before an explosion rocks the very foundations of her fortress, waves of concussive force blowing through the ancient stones. 

"What in magic-" Maleficent teleports to the epicentre of the explosion as her castle cries foul, shouting  _danger, danger, dragon, guest, danger!_ Maleficent appears in her potions laboratory, seeing Emma laying on the ground, blown back from her exploded cauldron, the remnant of a failed potion splattered all over the wooden worktop. 

"I can't see," she hears Emma whisper as she blinks, hand slowly rising up to her face, rubbing at her eyes. Maleficent locates a book in the wreckage on the other side of the room, but it had shut, the page lost.  _What was she trying to make?_  

"Emma," Maleficent catches her attention, "what were you trying to make?" She watches her from the other side of the room, crouched as Emma sits up slowly, standing and immediately having problems with her balance, stumbling backwards into a wall. "I can help reverse the side-effects of whatever went wrong if you tell me how." 

"I...I can't tell you," Emma mutters, "I know that's not very helpful." 

"No," Maleficent says shortly, "it's not." Standing fluidly, Maleficent brushes down her dress skirt, waving her hand. The lab slowly knits itself back together, the failed potion disappearing as her castle takes over. Making her way over to Emma, book in hand, Maleficent takes her arm, Emma clinging to her helplessly. 

Up close, she can see how Emma's eyes have faded in colour, almost translucent – more red than green, now. A spray of blue potion is wiped across her face, obviously having splashed across her eyes. Raising her hand up, Maleficent carefully vanishes the last remnants of the potion, placing her hand on Emma's cheek as she inspects her eyes. 

"Failed magic is unpredictable when it comes to hybrids," Maleficent informs her. "In dragons, the side-effects would wear off as soon as your internal fire could figure out what was made strange. All magic made affects dragons, as we are magical creatures. In humans, it might be fatal or it might do nothing." 

"So, what will happen?" 

"I don't know and unless I know what you were making, I can't extrapolate, either," Maleficent says tersely. Guilt emanates from Emma in waves, however and Maleficent can only guess as to why. "Was the potion meant for you or for me? This book is on draconic magic." 

"...you." 

 _I see,_  Maleficent tries to ignore the flash of betrayal.  _She has no reason to be loyal to me. We know nothing about each other._ "Time will tell if your sight will return." 

"Okay," Emma blinks rapidly, but she 'looks' where Maleficent is standing. "I'm sorry. If it had worked, I would have given it to you. There are things you don't know." 

"Obviously." Maleficent teleports them to the room Emma had taken, placing the other dragon's hand on the bedpost. "We are in your room. I will take my leave, now." 

And so, she does. 

* * *

"And you can't see now?" Madelina questions, tugging on a lock of Emma's hair. "Well done." 

"Only sometimes," Emma shrugs, feeling stupid. "I could see before I came through the door." 

"Right," Madelina sounds distinctly amused and Emma wishes she could see her face. An arm loops through hers, dragging her through the tavern. Her feet stumble over an uneven tile, but Madelina catches her, holding her up. "Why not just wear a blindfold all the time, so you can get used to not being able to see?" 

"Because it can last up to a month," Emma immediately says, remembering those first four weeks where she couldn't see. It was the scariest time of her life and even now, when her sight fails her, she can't help but feel that heart-stopping fear. 

"Leia!" Comes a familiar voice, "You've returned!" 

"Micah?" Emma questions, before Madelina speaks. 

"Stop bowing, Micy, she can't see it. A magical accident has taken her sight." 

"Oh, my apologies, Lady Leia," Micah says, sounding pitying. Emma grimaces, gripping her walking cane tightly, Madelina walking too fast for her to use it properly. 

"It was my own fault. It's fine, just...just act like you normally would." 

Madelina leads her to the back room, sitting her at the table and shutting the door. Emma thinks it's only them, until she reaches out for a moment with her magic and feels a familiar presence. 

"Viola?" She guesses, the hug that follows a happy noise of shock not surprising her in the least. "Hey, how are you?" 

"I'm brilliant! How are you, Leia?" Viola questions, pausing, "What's the matter?" 

"She's blind, now, Viola," Madelina says bluntly. 

"Yeah, I am," Emma agrees, clearing her throat. "I'm alright, otherwise. How's Reyda?" 

"Out getting supplies," Viola says, her voice coming from a new angle. Emma hears a chair scrape, her feet pattering on the ground. "Ian's bakery burned down last month, so we've had to go all the way into the city for bread and the like – Reyda takes a cart and gets all Càliz's bakery goods for noon. Everyone is despairing over it. The city bakers are horridly expensive." 

"Sounds bad," Emma winces. "Could I help? How's the rebuild going?" 

"Ian's trying, but thieves got to his purse during his stay in the inn," Madelina sighs. "Unless you could repair the building with magic or give Ian some coin, there's nothing you can do." 

"I can try repairing it," Emma says, going to stand again, using her cane to check her surroundings, the dragon handle digging into her fingers. "Lead me out to the back door?" 

Madelina's arm comes to slip through hers again, making her tense slightly before Emma forces herself to relax. 

"Now? Are you sure? I was going to ask you about your attempts to get home," Madelina says, sounding rather more enthusiastic about Emma rebuilding the bakery than talking about time travel, in Emma's opinion. They enter the tavern again, the sounds assaulting her ears before Viola – who seemed to have gone on ahead of them – makes way for them both through the crowded room. 

When they exit through the back door, the sound abruptly muffles, but the lack of heavenly smells alerts Emma to the lack of bakery. The wind is stronger, too and she thinks she can feel charred wood under her feet. 

"Can you do this while blind?" Madelina questions, sounding worried. 

"I can do it," Emma confirms, taking her arm from Madelina, raising it up. It makes it easier for her, perhaps, that she can't see the burned remnants of the bakery. Her magic eagerly hops to attention as she spreads her intentions through it, remembering the bakery as it was and letting her magic fill in the gaps. 

Madelina and Viola make noises of amazement as Emma feels it begin to work and out in the street, shouts rise up, alarm spreading through those in the market. 

"Amazing!" Viola gasps. "You're actually doing magic!" 

"Rumple's good for something, at least," Emma grunts, the strain as it keeps going on pulling at her like a muscle.  _I've not done something this big in._ _..ages_ _._  When her magic putters out, the bakery finished repairing, Emma exhaustedly sways, grabbing onto the still-nearby Madelina. "I need to sit down." 

"You need to be congratulated! My best wine – Viola, go get it! We're celebrating!" 

"Oh, don't," Emma shakes her head, "I just need to sleep." 

"Then use my bed," Madelina says, before dragging her inside again, leading her up the stairs this time to the bedroom. Emma, feeling her shins against the side of the double, lets herself drop, groaning in contentment. "That tired, eh?" 

"Yep," Emma says drowsily. 

Falling asleep, Emma has a good long nap, waking up with her sight again. The sun her enemy as of that moment, she narrows her eyes, sitting up and looking around. The sight of the room she'd spent two weeks in the year previous makes her nostalgic, remembering her adjustment period. Going from Storybrooke to the Enchanted Forest was, simply put, horrible – and no offence to Madelina, but having no running water in the inn was the worst part. At least in the Dark Castle, King Xavier's palace and the Forbidden Fortress, she could have a bath drawn up, either by magic or servants. 

Wandering downstairs, Emma has barely stepped off the staircase before feeling Maleficent's magic swirl around her, summoning her to the castle. 

"Don't do that," she immediately snaps, the dragon lounging on the sofa, legs over the arm and her head resting in the middle cushion. "Are you bored again?" 

"If you weren't around, I'd sleep for a hundred years," Maleficent opens her eyes, looking at Emma with a curious expression. "Why did you go to that village? Why use your magic for such trivial matters?" 

"Rebuilding one of the most important establishments in that village was a priority," Emma says, crossing her arms before uncrossing them, clenching her fists. "You can't just summon me back here whenever you want to see me! How about leaving your castle, for once?" 

"Leaving is a waste of my energy." 

"And summoning me, isn't?" Emma questions, joining her on the sofa, leaning over her head. Maleficent looks up at her without a care in the world and Emma frowns, smelling something... _off_. Reaching out with her magic – just a strand, not enough for either of them to be 'set off' – Emma physically recoils at the smokey, dark curse wafting off her. "What did you do to yourself?" 

Maleficent waves her hand at the coffee table and Emma looks, to see a bottle of potion and a needle. For a moment, she thinks Maleficent is suicidal, but she can already feel the effect wearing off. Picking the potion off the table, she sniffs it, nearly coughing at the fumes that make her feel dizzy and like she's being pulled out of her own body – like astral projection, almost. 

"What is this?" She questions, putting it down out of Maleficent's reach as she tries to take it from her. "Is this some kind of dragon way of getting high?" 

"It takes the edge off," Maleficent says, "A bad habit of mine, though it  _does_  require that I know sleeping curses better than I know my own wings. I've only ever had one sleeping curse that has  _actually_ harmed me in the long term." 

Emma doesn't know how to reply to that.  _She experiments with what, sleeping curses in the space of normal drugs? God, does this mean Maleficent is a stoner-queen or something?_  

"Is this safe?" She questions, tentative. 

"Not really," Maleficent replies breezily, an ugly frown appearing on her face. "Let me have it back." She stretches out her arm, trying to get the potion bottle but falling off the sofa. 

"...very dignified," Emma notes wryly to the dragon on the floor. 

Maleficent glares mulishly, curls all amuck beneath her. "Of course it's dignified – I'm a  _dragon_." 

"Of course," Emma agrees, picking up the potion bottle and pulling out the needle, eying it considerably.  _I've not gotten high in years..._  "Will this hurt me?" 

"Probably not. That version could barely put a human to sleep." 

"Huh," Emma considers it, recalling what Maleficent said about hybrids just in time for her sight to vanish again. Carefully, she puts the potion down again, hearing Maleficent sigh quietly to herself as she gets used to the unending blackness again. "Maybe I'll join you another time." 

"Hmm..." Maleficent's hand wraps around her ankle, trailing up her shin. "Why not now?" 

The pull increases. Emma reaches down, taking Maleficent's hand off her leg. "Well, for one, your judgement is compromised right now and second, I was talking about the sleeping curse, not marrying you." 

" _Marrying_ , such a human word.  _Mating_ is the proper terminology," Maleficent moves, presumably sitting up – though, Emma doesn't expect to be pushed back against the sofa, or for Maleficent to straddle her lap. Sucking in a breath, Emma bats her hands, finding Maleficent's elbows despite her large, blooming dress sleeves. "Why so negative,  _Emma?_ " 

"Not negative, just...reluctant," Emma says, forcing herself not to jump as Maleficent's forehead rests against hers. "I've been in the Enchanted Forest for nearly a year and a half, now, been in your castle just over five months; but I want to go home to my own realm. It wouldn't be fair to you to go-" 

"We're going to spend time apart, Emma," she interrupts. "The length dragons live, even if we don't go around bragging about it, is inconceivable. I wouldn't expect you to stay with me forever." 

Emma frowns, "How long do dragons live?" 

"Dragons are immortal." Maleficent says, a hand tracing Emma's jaw. "Even when some pesky knight slays us, we're always resurrected eventually. The only reason more of us don't fly about is because we'd rather stay in Purgatory with our friends – Purgatory being the realm or souls reside in while we wait to be brought back to life." 

Emma's brain kind of stalls, then. "Immortal?"  _I'm going to slay Maleficent...oh my god, can no-one_ ** _actually_** _die properly?_   

"Have I never told you before?" Maleficent questions under her breath, sounding worried. Being so close to her, Emma hears her clearly. "I think I mentioned we were a long-lived species, before, I must have..." 

"I think you did, the day you were telling me about how you took the Forbidden Fortress from former its care-takers," Emma says carefully. 

"They were happy to be rid of this place-" 

"How do I resurrect you?" Emma questions, wincing at her own lack of subtlety. 

"...well, usually, with the blood of the one who killed me or the blood of my enemy – presuming they're human, of course. Otherwise, you might have to go the whole 'resurrect me for nefarious purposes' route," Maleficent's smirk is practically audible, though Emma can't be sure, not without being able to see. "If  _you_  killed me, for example, you'd need a mediator. A dragon's revenge is powerful magic. Usually, I'd owe the one who resurrected me a favour." 

"How would the mediator resurrect you?" Emma questions. 

"Planning to murder me, Emma?" Maleficent whispers into her ear, breath warm and tickling. Emma jerks slightly, rubbing it before the other dragon presses up against her, still whispering to her. "The mediator would have to spill their blood on my ashes and chant my name; then, they would call upon me so my unfinished business could be completed. That unfinished business being the destruction of the one who killed me,  _obviously._ " 

"Obviously," Emma repeats, suddenly feeling a huge sense of relief, the weight of slaying this woman in her own future – in Emma's past – lifting off her shoulders.  _We're dragons, we'll live for...for a long time,_ she thinks,  _we'll leave everyone behind. I'll leave my parents and Regina and Henry._ Emma's heart pangs at the thought of her son and she wants to see him again, so badly. 

"You have your thinking face on, my dear," Maleficent says, voice teasing, "don't break anything." 

"I have a son," Emma tells her, feeling Maleficent's body tilt back in surprise. 

"You what?" 

"I have a son," Emma repeats, "I have a set of parents, a brother, a son and...and a friend."  _A Regina. I have a Regina – but I can't say her name, not to Maleficent, not when they'll know each other._  "I'm a time traveller and in the future, a stupid younger me is going to throw a sword through your chest. The potion that made my eyesight go funky was a botched memory potion, so you'd forget me." 

"Time travel is impossible," Maleficent says, incredulous. 

"It's really isn't." 

"Why should I believe you?" Maleficent croons then, the hand on Emma's cheek gripping her chin sharply. "Telling tall tales can amuse me, nothing more." 

"I'm telling the truth and I can prove it," Emma states, staunch in her claim.  _It's true, after all._   

"How?" 

"You said that with the...mating bond, nothing could be hidden," Emma starts, gambling, "How did you mean that?" 

The hand on her chin loosens, her thumb nearly stroking along her bottom lip. "We could see each other's memories, if we wanted to – if our bond was that strong. I could follow you, when you astral projected...when we flew, we could be in sync with each other." 

"Is that a euphemism?" Emma questions, tilting her face up, trying to guess where Maleficent's face could be from her voice. Lips press against hers, gentle and then passionate as Emma grips her arms. The pull becomes like a tide and Emma decides to give in, letting her magic reach out to wrap around- 

"Call me Mal," Maleficent-  _Mal_ gasps out, tearing at her shirt as the heat rises – literal heat, Emma's fire smoking out her mouth as it burns in her gullet. Mal's own magic opens up to her a moment later and their magic entwines. 

Emma has to pause to catch her breath, the sensation unfamiliar but right in an unholy way. Mal burrows her head in Emma's neck, before teeth slice through her skin. The sensation is dizzying and their magic merges in a way Emma hadn't known was possible. Almost on automatic, instincts driving her as everything becomes fuzzy, her nails digging into Maleficent's shoulder. 

" ** _Blood for blood, magic for magic_** ," Maleficent growls in dragon-tongue, the noise reverberating through Emma's bones and the castle walls. Suddenly, everything is bright and she can feel the castle around them like she couldn't, before – as if it's one of her creations, one of the things she's imbued her magic in. Maleficent's fire is her own and it is so much  _stronger_ than hers, yet it feels like home. 

 _Mistress,_ the castle murmurs to her as if  _she_ is Maleficent, before the opposite is true – Emma feels her own magic, her belongings and her own fire and Maleficent is there, with her. 

 _This is the bond,_ Mal's voice echoes in her mind and it is her mind, because her ears are full of dragon-tongue, the last word,  ** _magic_**  still echoing through the hall.  _Show me your truth, Emma Swan._  

Emma doesn't do it consciously at first, simply remembering her life growing up in the Land Without Magic, then coming to Storybrooke with Henry and all the events that followed, skimming the surface without getting detailed. Only when she realises Maleficent sees it all, does she go back, embellishing and focusing on important points. 

"Time travel," Maleficent says out loud, what seems like hours later. The world is still dark to Emma, but hazy, then clear images seemingly flash by her eyes. It takes a second for her to realise they're Maleficent's memories of breaking out of a shell, growing up in a dark, glinting cave full of her mothers hoard before learning to treasure knowledge rather than gold. 

"My life is too long for me to show you everything," Mal says, "but that is the most important part. I have no children, no family and only the Forbidden Fortress. My books number low, but my mind is my hoard. You...you don't have a hoard, yet. You won't, not for some time yet." 

Emma nods, mute as well as blind in that moment. She can feel her neck bleeding, feel Maleficent's blood under her nails – but the bond is not what she expected. It's both their magic- no, their  _fire_ , joined together in an ever-present link. Their magic, too, she supposes is connected, but Emma's is different from Maleficent's, whose magic comes solely  _from_  her fire. Emma's magic is distinctly separate from her fire and it shows. 

"I can't come with you to the future," Mal says. "You've made that clear. Your Regina will also be  _mine_ , one day, first yet already second. However, you can probably tell that I wouldn't simply be able to  _forget_  our bond." 

"You need to forget, though," Emma mumbles, "just until I return." 

"I dread to think what it will feel like for me, when you leave – I've never had a true mating bond before, or met any other dragon who's had one. You will have to...resurrect me," Mal says, humming in amusement. "And here I thought you were going to murder me." 

Emma snorts. "Well, it technically has already happened." 

"For you. It seems you  _are_ going to murder me." Mal kisses her lips softly, the coppery tang of blood reminding Emma that she has to clean her neck. "Would you like a human ceremony?" 

"This is enough," Emma says. It's more than enough, actually – it almost feels sacrilegious to even compare  _this_  to marriage. 

 _Though, I think calling us 'wives' is still applicable. What have I done?_  

"This is enough." 

* * *

The next day, Emma teleports to the Dark Castle, appearing inside her vacated bedroom. The Black Fairy's body is gone and so is the blood – magicked away, most likely. Emma brushes her finger over the wooden bed-posts, brushing the dust off it with her thumb. 

 _He hasn't touched it,_ she thinks, going over to her wardrobe and taking out her satchel, checking it for her modern-day clothes and sighing in relief at the sight of them. Likewise, Emma looks for the Book, finding it where she left it in her bedside cabinet, hidden from Rumplestiltskin's prying eyes. 

"Back, are we?" 

Emma calmly packs the Book into her bag, not looking at the Dark One, having sensed him enter her room. 

"Are you going to retrieve your prisoner?" He steps forwards, reaching out to flick her hair away from the side of her neck. Emma glares at him, standing straight as he giggles. "Oh! Congratulations, Princess Leia – mating suits you. I'll assume that's why your magic is all...well, let's call it... _combustable_ _._ " 

"Is Zelena still here?" Emma questions harshly. 

"Yes," he answers simply, watching her and then following her as she teleports to the dungeons. The castle belatedly greets her and it feels odd to Emma, used to Maleficent's Forbidden Fortress – which is far more sentient than the Dark Castle. 

Opening the door to her cell, Emma lays eyes on Zelena for the first time in months, noting the small shrine of objects piled up on the windowsill. Books, a hairbrush and even a mirror... 

"Saviour, how nice of you to drop by." 

The two witches look at each other with similarly expressions of animosity – though Emma looks severely more tired than Zelena, who radiates hate. Summoning a pair of modern handcuffs, Emma goes over to Zelena and wrestles her easily into a hold so she can put them on, when she resists. 

"You've got experience with those," Rumplestiltskin notes, eying the unfamiliar silver and plastic device. "Wouldn't chains be more..." 

"These work and if Zelena can unpick them, I'll be surprised," Emma states, pulling the woman to her feet. "The wand?" 

"Right here, dearie," he summons it, twirling it around. "Focus on the time portal this time, your time portal – not the  _first_  portal, as I suspect you must have summoned the previous attempt." 

"Thanks," Emma snatches the wand out of his hand, before teleporting all three of them to Rumplestiltskin's laboratory. "Potion?" 

"Of course," Rumple grins, looking a little sad – not that Emma quite cares. Holding Zelena in place, Emma tucks the Black Fairy's wand into her bodice and watches him brew a memory potion she recognises as one he taught her the previous year. At one point during the brewing process, she levitates his reference book over, flipping over a page to the antidote, refreshing her memory. 

"Ooh, the Saviour's interested in  _potions_ ," Zelena sneers. "As if you'd be able to brew such a complex-" 

"Quiet," Rumple snaps his fingers, her voice disappearing. Emma grimaces as she struggles against her grip for a moment, silently shouting at the Dark One. They watch as the potion drips into a vial, before Rumple stops the liquid flow and takes it from where it sits. He holds it up to Emma in a  _cheers_ motion. "Good luck, Apprentice. Remember our deal, when you get back to the future." He downs the potion and Emma teleports them away, back to Maleficent's castle where she waits, standing in front of her fireplace. 

"Mal, he's forgotten," she says, wincing as Zelena speaks, testament to Rumple's cleverness in remembering to remove the muting spell. 

"When did  _you_  get acquainted with  _Maleficent_ , Swan?" 

"She's my wife," Mal says, twisting to face them both. Like Rumplestiltskin, she holds a vial of potion – one that will work on a dragon, if it works properly. "Stop gaping, you idiotic excuse of a witch. At least Emma made good things happen, during her time here." 

Zelena splutters and Emma asks the castle to keep her feet stuck to the floor – the Fortress eager to please. Walking over to Mal, Emma fiddles with the strap of her bag, reaching out tentatively for Maleficent's wrist. Their magic is connected – it always will be now, shared, mingling and the same entity all at the same time – but Emma still likes the kind of  _solidity_  touching brings. 

"I will need you to activate the spell as you leave," Mal murmurs. "Do you remember it?" 

"Yes," Emma says, "though, it's more a poem, isn't it?" 

"An older form of magic." Mal steps closer, their foreheads connecting briefly, before Emma reaches up to clutch her shoulders, kissing her. Mal reciprocates, but she is far from reluctant when she ends the contact, fingers curling in Emma's hair briefly before she nods tightly. "You're right. It's been too long, now. You need to go home and take your criminal witch with you." 

"Okay," Emma mumbles, stepping back and grabbing a hold of Zelena again, the castle letting go of her feet as Mal downs the potion. Taking out the Black Fairy's wand, she takes a breath before summoning the portal, thinking  _the time portal,_ _Zelena's_ _time portal, the time portal._  

It appears in all its gold-orange glory. 

" _Dragon fire, dragon bane, the potion in your veins;_ " she recites, looking at Maleficent as the portal roars and whips the wind around them, " _Hide the memories, hide our bond, till the Saviour's resurrection of Maleficent – till this time-_ _witch_ _is gone._ " 

Emma's magic surges and then white light bursts over them all – Emma using the flash to throw both Zelena and herself through the portal.  _Storybrooke_ _, two nights later, Main Street,_  she thinks, aiming as true as she can for outside the archway to Granny's Diner.  _Storybrooke_ _, two nights later, Main Street._  

The sensation is the same as the first time: like a rollercoaster, falling from a great height –  _or a tower,_  Emma thinks, remembering transforming for the first time as she tumbled and tumbled until fire spread through her veins – spinning until they abruptly swerve left, cool air rushing over her face. Emma sees the concrete right before realising her last landing pad was mud. 

Arms flying out – letting go of Zelena and more importantly, the Black Fairy's wand – Emma falls face-first into the pavement, smacking her head off the ground. For a few seconds, she's in the dark before an almighty ache rages through her forehead, making her gasp with pain. Her hands sting even through her gloves, her elbows shaking and unfeeling – the only part of her that made contact with the ground that doesn't sting are her knees, surprisingly, protected by the imbued-with-softness leather trousers, though they are wobbly at the lack of pre-stabilisation. 

"Shit," she swears, hissing as she gets to her feet, unsteady. Zelena, likewise, gets to her feet with a sound of pain. Hand rising to her forehead, Emma rubs at it gently, using a little bit of magic to heal what she can tell would have been a whopping egg of a bruise.  _I'm lucky I didn't fracture something._  

The door to Granny's opens. "Ma?" 

Emma looks up, to see Henry and Regina in the doorway. Immediately, she smiles, drinking in the sight of him. 

"Henry." 

Henry hurries down the steps, but behind him, Regina's eyes turn onto Zelena. "Watch out!" She shouts, Emma twirling around in time to see Zelena pick up the Wand, levering off the black magic-nullifying leather band around her wrist and vanishing the cuffs.

"I'm finally free!" The witch exclaims, stepping back out onto the road, aiming the Wand at Emma as she brings magic to her fingers, growling in annoyance. 

"Really?  _Really?_ " Emma stamps her foot. "You haven't given up yet?" 

Zelena sneers at her, "Never, Saviour." Then, she twirls the Black Fairy's Wand, green sparks falling off it before she summons the time portal again behind her, diving in. 

"No!" Emma hurries forwards, not thinking before jumping through after her. She thinks she hears another shout, someone calling her name, but it's lost to the winds of time as again, for the third time in her life, she travels through the time portal towards Regina's end. 

 _Not again,_  she thinks in despair,  _please, just let me catch her!_  

When she feels like she's being shunted sideways, Emma readies herself, catching her own fall with a tiny levitation spell, stopping right before she hits the ground. 

"Sorry, Saviour," Zelena cackles as she lets up the spell, scrambling to her feet. Emma only has the time to rush into emerald smoke as she teleports away, yelling into the woods. 

"No!" Emma turns, looking back at the time portal, a mere slit in the fabric of space-time, knowing she's about to watch it disappear – but it doesn't and Emma wonders, horrified, if Zelena has to close it herself for it to shut. 

But then, three figures come flying out, one by one, landing in a ginormous pile of bodies. Emma sees black hair, a green coat and a red tartan-print button-up and abruptly becomes horrified in a different way as Henry, Regina and Robin all get up onto their feet. 

"What did you do?" Emma questions them, feeling emotionally numb, even as Henry lunges to put his arms around her waist, hugging her tight. Stationary, Emma looks down at him, not understanding. "You followed me through?" 

"We saw Zelena," Robin says, "She made a portal." 

"Another portal," Regina corrects, looking at Emma with concerned eyes. "Where is she?" 

"Gone," Emma answers helplessly, "and she has the Black Fairy's Wand. It's capable of re-opening portals. I can't believe this just happened!" She reaches down to Henry, to her son, grabbing his shoulders. "Why would you follow me?" Then, she looks to Regina, "How could you let him?" 

Regina rightfully flinches. "It was my mistake." 

"It wasn't a mistake," Henry interrupts, looking at Emma beseechingly. "We can help, this time! You got her back before, you can do it again and we-" 

"Stop," Emma swallows, not sure how to interact with him.  _I haven't spoken to an actual kid since...since when? The last time I spoke to Viola? She's not even a kid..._  Taking a deep breath, Emma tries to be as diplomatic as she can. "I know you want to help, however the last time I got her, it was with a lot of preparation and a lot of magic – stuff you can't help with and stuff we can't replicate. I'm starting from scratch, but things are different, now. For all I know, Zelena has already made a new portal to go further or forwards in time, stranding us here. I'm grateful for the offer, Henry, but  _now_ my most important task is to get you home safe, before I do anything else." 

"What if there's no home to get back to safely?" Henry questions, "What..." He trails off, a strange expression appearing on his face. "What's on your neck?" 

 _My neck?_  Emma blinks, before flushing as she realises Maleficent's bite must be visible. Standing straight, Emma pulls her hair forwards, using a glamour to hide it from sight, instead making a hickey-like bruise appear instead, in case Robin or Regina ask questions. 

"Nothing you need to worry about, kid." 

"Was it your...friend?" Regina questions, sounding wary. Emma glances at her, to see an only slightly concerned look on her face, most of it taken over by a dark frown. 

"Everything was consensual, if that's what you're asking," Emma replies, Robin coughing slightly at her words. 

" _Oh_ ," he says, Henry frowning. 

"Consensual?" 

"Nothing you need to worry about," Emma repeats hurriedly, realising her mistake. She mutters to herself, "I've really not been around kids a lot, lately." 

Looking around, Emma correctly guesses they're in the Enchanted Forest, but stops sharply at the sight of a poster. 

"Oh no," she steps over to the tree, tearing it off, ripping it where the nail slammed through paper into bark. "This is not good." 

"What's not good?" Regina questions, stepping up beside her. "Oh...oh dear. You're right, this is not good." 

Together, Emma and Regina grimly look down at the Murder, Treason and Treachery WANTED poster for Snow White. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day, what kind of nocturnal hobgoblin am i? one who'll probably have to edit this in the morning for mistakes.

"How do time portals work?" Regina asks her, as if it's an every-day question. 

Emma tilts her head back and forth, a little panicky. "Like any other kind of portal. They take you where- when, in this case, you're thinking. Zelena must have meant to bring us here – she was first through the portal." 

"Maybe not," Regina disagrees, "Your average portal needs intent, yes, but strong intent even from the last passenger could change the destination." 

"Great," Emma looks to Robin, "What were you thinking of?" 

"Me?" Robin questions, "You actually think we're when  _I_ was thinking of?" 

"We can't leave anything to chance," Emma states, "I was just wanting to go where Zelena was, to catch her." 

"And I wanted to follow Ma!" Henry exclaims, voice cracking half-way through his sentence. Emma winces in pity, vaguely wondering whether Madelina did the same thing listening to Micah. 

"Much the same thoughts went through my head," Regina says grudgingly, doing up the buttons of her black collar-shirt, fixing her pencil-skirt afterwards. Her fidgeting seemingly inspires Henry to do the same and Robin as well, both of them straightening their jackets. A quick look over the inspiration for one of her favourite Disney characters shows Emma that he  _really_  doesn't go anywhere without his bow, even if it's a mechanical one now. 

However, her previous thoughts of Madelina and Micah stick with her.  _They'd hide us, tell us when we are, if they didn't run screaming at the sight of Regina._ Grimacing, Emma looks at the clothes of her companions, noting that they'd stick out like sore thumbs. She tries to remember the Dark Castle, waving her hand to dress Robin up in some of Rumple's things. His short exclamation makes Emma aware that it worked and a glance shows him wearing tight leather trousers, boots, a brown shirt and a crocodile waist-coat. 

"Where are my clothes?" 

"Sorry," Emma looks to Henry, switching out his shirt for a spare white shirt of hers, a buckle belt and a fur coat to keep him warm, hoping people wouldn't look at his trainers or jeans too badly.  _A glamour, maybe?_  It wasn't like Rumple had any young boys clothes in the Dark Castle – that Emma had seen, anyway. Concentrating, she glamours his jeans to look vaguely less jean-like, aware that it's a bad idea for her to try at making him look like he's wearing a completely different set of trousers – skin-on-skin glamours are her speciality, not fabrics. His shoes end up looking like boots, though, something she's sure she's going to regret, for some reason. 

"Woah..." Henry stares at himself, looking at Emma in awe. "You can use magic!" 

"You stuck out," Emma says, looking at Regina. "Do you trust me?" 

Regina purses her lips, "If my younger self is traipsing around, I don't want to accidentally steal her clothes in front of the entire Black Guard." She levies Emma with a hard stare. " _Don't_  make me too peasant-like, please." 

"I lived here," Emma says, thinking  _I have exactly two dresses and only one of them would be up to your standards._  "It might be a bit conspicuous, actually." 

"What do you-" 

Emma waves her hand and then Regina is no longer in her shirt and skirt combo, instead wearing a red velvet gown with a scooping, gold neckline. 

"-mean?" Regina finishes, looking down at herself, tugging at the long skirt. "This is yours?" 

Emma shrugs, privately thinking it looks better on Regina. "If anyone asks, you're a visiting noble-woman. I'm your best friend and Robin is your guard – Henry is his son. We've been attacked by bandits and barely escaped with our lives. They took your jewels and our horses." 

Regina looks at Emma, slightly baffled. "When did you become an expert on the Enchanted Forest in your few weeks in the past?" 

Emma grimaces.  _Right, because she thinks it's been a few weeks._  Reaching up for her hair, she pulls it to the side, quickly braiding it as she wonders how to do Regina's. She speaks to the three of them, even as she wordlessly brings her glamour up slowly, tying the enchantment into her braid as if it's a lock, starkly remembering Cora's willingness to try pulling away her fake face. 

"Never mind that. I'll be using my old glamour, though if we run into either of your parents, Regina, we might have problems. I don't know any other thirteen year old boys to change Henry's face for, either – though I suppose I could change Robin into someone I know," Emma looks him up and down, wondering whether Micah's face would look too young on him.  _Probably. Maybe one of my marks, from when I worked in Boston?_  

"You  _really_  get into this disguise thing, Ma," Henry notes. 

"Have to, kiddo," Emma says regretfully, before deciding Regina's hair is fine – someone would probably ask how it was staying up if all her valuables had been stolen. Mal always used to put her golden hair up with fancy golden pins or onyx clips. "Either we disguise ourselves, or we aren't seen at all." 

"I was thinking of my wife," Robin says suddenly, dragging their attention to him. "Marian. I was...I was thinking about time travel. It's been on my mind." 

"You can't save her," Emma immediately says, knowing it's harsh but unable to say anything better. "I don't even know what I've changed, but I've certainly not  _saved_  anyone. If anything, people have died." 

"Who?" Regina questions, jumping at her. 

Emma swallows, thinking of Fiona the Black Fairy and the midwife, who died when Zelena crushed her heart in Cora's room. "No-one important," she says, extremely aware that she's lying through her teeth.  _For all I know, in the original timeline the midwife helped raise Regina._  

"What do we do, now?" Henry asks, before Regina can question her – and from the look on her face, she wants to. 

"We go to Cáliz," Emma says, glancing around. "I just have to get my bearings." 

"Cáliz?" Regina's voice is disbelieving, "What do we do there?" 

Emma's lip twitches, "Your aunt, Madelina. She's my friend." 

"I don't have an aunt called Madelina," Regina immediately says, unable to hide her hurt. "I have no aunts that aren't dead, by this time. Daddy's sisters in law all died mysteriously, along with his brothers." 

"That's a shame," Emma says, sadly confident that Regina has no clue how Madelina – or assumedly, any of her uncles – are. "But I'm talking about your mother's sister, Madelina of Cáliz. Your uncle Micah, might be around as well. I never met Santino, Dante or Rafael." 

Regina's eyes are wide. "I have no idea who you're talking about." 

Emma glances at Henry, who frowns slightly, causing her to shake her head. "We need to get moving. Once I find somewhere I know, I can transport us there." 

"I can take us," Regina says, raising a hand, only for the sound of horses to cause them all to look to their side. "My knights-" 

"Hide!" Robin grabs Henry, dragging him to the ground. Emma pulls Regina to the tree, spinning her around and pinning her, out of sight. Their faces are close enough that Emma can feel Regina's breath on her neck, but she doesn't let their closeness distract her – not when Black Knights on horseback are flying down the road. 

"My carriage will be behind them – my younger self will appear any minute now," Regina says. "If I see her, I can tell us  _when_  we are." 

"It's too risky..." Emma replies, before thinking it through for a moment.  _The less impact we make, the easier it'll be to get back._  "Okay." 

"Good, let's go," Regina and Emma step back from the tree in sync, Robin and Henry getting back onto their feet. 

"Is this the best idea?" Robin queries as they make their way through the trees, Emma at the fore. Up ahead, Emma can see a village and as they approach, she puts her hood up, seeing Black Knights already lining up the townspeople. 

Sneaking up to a corner and standing just at the edge, Emma glances back at Regina, only to be grabbed by a Knight, her shoulder wrenching. 

"Get in line!" He growls, pushing a stumbling Emma forwards. She glances back, seeing Regina peering around the corner carefully.  _Her face!_ Emma raises her hand, twisting her wrist. She sees when Regina feels the magic take over her features and while Emma can't see it really – Regina's true face visible to her and to both Henry and Robin – Emma knows she looks like Salma Hayek, now. 

Forcing herself to look forwards, Emma sees some of the townspeople looking at her, probably wondering who she is. Then, she hears the carriage Regina mentioned. Emma swallows, nerves a pit of butterflies in her stomach. Meeting Cora was different – with Cora, she chose to meet her and it was all pre-ordained by her and Rumplestiltskin. 

But this is Regina. Not only that, it's Regina at the height of her power – the Evil Queen. What's worse is knowing that her older self is somewhere behind Emma, watching on, Henry at her side about to truly see what he warned Emma about when she first came to Storybrooke, all those years ago.  _And Robin_ , Emma thinks belatedly,  _he's going to see her like this too, when she's all past being evil. Like a relapse – or watching a home video of your girlfriend before she had the mid-life crisis that fixed her bitchy personality._  

The carriage stops and the door opens, the Evil Queen ducking her head out. She stands there for a long while and Emma thinks she's going to say something – except, the tension is just wrung out until her foot hits the ground, finally. Only when the door has slammed shut and everyone is quiet does she speak. 

"Listen to me very carefully," she says, stalking forwards. "Whatever squalor and despair your pathetic little lives have been able to tolerate until this point is  _nothing_  compared to the pain and misery  _I_ can inflict if I leave here unhappy." 

The Evil Queen is frightening, unless you've defeated her before. Emma watches her walk down the line, lips pursed even as a Black Knight behind her tugs down her hood and the hood of her neighbour. 

"You  _will_ help me," she says, stopping only feet from Emma, turning to look at the ones she's already gone past, twirling her fancy coat. 

It occurs to Emma, however, that maybe Micah thought right about the trousers thing on women – especially seeing as in the Enchanted Forest, that means body-forming leather monstrosities. Head tilting, Emma eyes the Evil Queen up, not expecting to see Marco and an actual wooden, child-version of Pinocchio – August – step forwards right beside her into view. 

"Please, Your Majesty, we are a peaceful village," he says, holding Pinocchio's hand. "What do you want?" 

The Evil Queen steps forwards, eyes alight in a way Emma recognises. " _Justice_." She hisses at him, before turning back to the other villagers. "If I find out if  _anyone_  in this village has helped the bandit, Snow White, they will suffer dearly." 

She smiles and Emma gets a foreboding feeling as she gestures to a prisoner bound in chains. 

"Here is what helping Snow White looks like." 

The bag over the prisoners head is removed and the village gasps, shocked –  _recognising her?_  Emma swallows, uncomfortable with the idea of Regina- the Evil Queen using this woman as an example.  _But we can't interfere._  

"Help me!" The woman shouts, voice hoarse, "She's going to kill me-" 

" _Marian!_ " Comes a familiar voice and Emma feels horror curl up her spine as Robin comes rushing out from behind a house, shooting one of the Black Knights and aiming his crossbow at the Evil Queen. "Let my wife go!" 

"Robin,  _no!_ " Emma hears Regina hissing loudly, before Marian –  _god, Marian, Robin's wife, Regina killed Robin's wife,_ ** _shit_**  – tentatively, stutteringly, calls his name. 

"Robin?" 

The Evil Queen laughs to herself, eyes locked on Robin. "Robin of Locksley? If it is not the  _second-_ most wanted bandit in my kingdom...of course, you  _would_ help your fellow outlaw." 

"Let my wife go," Robin demands. 

The Evil Queen laughs again, this time darkly, hand rising and Emma can feel the magic rising up in her, even from a distance. The Evil Queen doesn't shield her magic, let's all know she's going to use it and Emma hates standing by and watching. But she does, because after a year and a half – nearly – of living in the past, Emma knows better than to try messing with established events. 

 _If Robin is captured here, then we can rescue him without being seen by a dozen-plus people. If he dies...that's on him._  Emma watches as the Evil Queen summons his crossbow, inspecting it with an interested gaze, handing it off to one of her Knights. Then, she watches as Robin has chains clamped around his wrists, marched towards Marian, who is at least allowed to bury her head in his chest. 

The Evil Queen chuckles, brags and prods at everyone's weak spots, eventually heading to her carriage and riding out, her new prisoner in tow. When they're out of sight, the already-moving villagers let out sighs of relief, Regina and Henry making their way over to Emma with unhappy faces. 

"Didn't you try and stop him?" Emma asks, knowing the question is futile. 

"Apparently, I'm his wife's murderer," Regina mutters bitterly, "He was in no mood to be convinced." 

"We'll rescue him," Emma says, "We have to." 

"What's the point?" Regina laughs, still so very, very bitter. "He'll just want us to take Marian back with us, too. He has his chance right now to get back the one he loves. I don't blame him for taking it." 

Wincing, Emma looks to Henry. "How are you holding up, Henry?" 

He shrugs, but he's clearly shaken, glancing at his mother every few seconds. "It was weird, but that wasn't my- wasn't..." He takes Regina's hand, squeezing it supportively. Regina gives him a small, forced smile before Emma clears her throat. 

"So, when are we?" 

"It wasn't clear," Regina grimaces, looking guilty. "This has been done so many times, this situation, threatening people..." 

"Right. You're too mixed up to know exactly when this is," Emma hates Regina's past for a second, disgusted that you could  _lose track_  of how many times you threatened innocent people, before she shakes her head of it all. "How else could we know?" 

"An event?" Regina hazards, before someone clears their throat. The trio look to see Marco. 

"Milady, are you alright? You were not brought in front of the Queen..." 

"They hid in time," Emma says, stepping closer to Regina, half-hiding Henry behind them both. "We're lost, actually. Robin Hood rescued us and now, well..." 

"I see," Marco gives a sorrowful smile, pitying and uncomfortable. "If you follow the road, you would find yourself heading towards the kingdom of Midas. I hear that Princess Abigail is engaged to be wed – you look as if you would be acquainted with her, perhaps," he says, glancing at Regina in her dark gown and then at Emma in her trousers, looking quite confused at the latter. 

"...yes, we are," Emma says, before remembering how women in trousers are received. "Well, my...lady, here, is. I am her friend and guardwoman. Which way is it to King Midas' kingdom?" 

"South, young miss," he replies, before Pinocchio tugs at his hand. "If you'll excuse me." 

"Awesome cover-story, Ma," Henry whispers, before Emma takes his hand, tugging him in the direction of the road. "What now?" 

"Now, we don't talk till we're out of the village." 

* * *

Once they're a few minutes down the road, Emma trundles Henry off to the side, sitting him down on a log before facing Regina, who looks impatient. 

"Anything?" Emma questions. 

"Abigail's engagement," Regina starts, arms crossed. "It means that your father hasn't met Snow yet, or has just made her acquaintance.  _That_  is how early we are in the time-line." 

"That is early," Emma frowns. "We'll have to make sure we don't cross paths or fuck shit up." 

" _Miss Swan! Language!_ " Regina glares, the Saviour wincing as Henry grins to himself on the log. "Apart from your vulgar language, my sentiments exactly." 

"Can you take us to Cáliz?" Emma questions. 

Regina frowns, obviously hesitant. "You still want to go?" 

"Madelina's my friend," Emma states. "We have nowhere else to go – I visited Rumple last time and Mal is off-limits." 

"Mal?" Regina starts, eyes widening. "Why is Mal off-limits?" 

"Old magic, meant to supress her memory – it's just a bad idea," Emma says hastily. "Madelina is the only one I never obliviated." 

"That isn't a real term," Regina points out, before uncrossing her arms, holding out each of her hands. Emma takes one, Henry standing to take the other. A moment later, purple smoke clouds around them. To Emma, it's extremely strange, her sensitivity to magic putting her off the foreign power for a moment, before she accepts it. They appear in Cáliz, in the town square, a moment later. Regina quickly drops Emma's hand. "Where to now?" 

Emma spins, finding Madelina's tavern immediately. She smiles. "This way." 

Disregarding Regina's unimpressed look, Emma leads the way, noticing how the building has aged in the last thirty or so years, smile fading as she realises she may not recognise her old friends this far in the future. 

However, as luck would have it, as soon as she steps in, the sole waitress drops her tray, exclaiming, "Leia?" 

Emma looks to her sharply, taking a moment to recognise the weathered features. "Reyda?" 

The woman looks elated, "Leia! It really  _is_  you – get over here!" Emma is thankful that the tavern is near-empty, because it means she can rush over without tripping over someone's outstretched leg, hugging Reyda tightly before getting a proper look at her. 

When Emma first met her, Reyda was a young woman, barely an adult. She had a plain face and a sharp chin, both things she still has – though rather than chocolate brown hair, it's peppered with white around the temple, her eyes crinkled from laughter. 

"Oh, it's been so long since we last saw you," Reyda sighs, gripping Emma's hands. "Do you still get blind spells?" 

"Sometimes, though I haven't had a long one in weeks – to me, it's only been a day or two since I was last here," Emma says, aware that Regina and Henry are listening. "Anyway, how are you? Where's Viola and Madelina?" 

"Viola is supervising the bakery floor next door while Ian is in the city for the month," Reyda says, "and Madelina is being Madelina and refusing to nap. She's rather old now, you know – it's been twenty-five years since you last came over. She's practically  _ancient._ " 

"I am not!" Madelina herself bursts out of the back room, grey hair a mess around her face rather than in a bun. Emma startles, looking over at her in time to get a dazzling, toothy smile. "Princess Leia! Get your little immortal arse over here!" 

"I'm not immortal," Emma denies, rushing over to hug her tightly. "How old are you, now? Sixty?" 

"You're a cheeky little madam," Madelina replies, patting her back. "Close, though. Why are you here?" 

"Can we speak in the back room?" Emma asks, smiling as Madelina scoffs, telling Reyda in Low Southern to clean up the tray she dropped before joining them. 

"You can't tell me what to do!" Reyda replies in jest, "Viola is a grown woman and so am I!" 

"Who are you all?" Henry asks, sounding excited. Madelina peers at him as they enter the back room, Emma waiting till the door is shut before speaking. 

"Madelina, before I tell you, what happened after I left? Did you ever see Regina? Is Micah still around?" 

Madelina sits at the table, grabbing a sweet roll she was clearly snacking on beforehand, the tavern books laying out underneath her plate. 

"Cora was a bitch and never let me see my niece, not  _once_ ," Madelina scoffs. "She had the audacity to claim the Dark One's spawn was Prince Henry's child though, so-" 

"That was always just gossip, Madelina," Emma interrupts, avoiding looking at Regina as she makes a noise of outrage. "What else? I'm not familiar with your history, remember?" 

Madelina grumbles, but shrugs. "Regina grew up, never meeting me –  _me_ , who would have been the best aunt in the realm. According to some friends I made in higher places than Cáliz, Cora was a brute, which is unsurprising, in retrospect. Rafael died, though you never met him. Dante didn't, but Dante apparently joined some pirate crew, stupid brother-mine. You never met him, either. Santino still lives in the city – his daughter works here, for me, you might see her. Lovely girl. Micah went on an adventure and never came back." 

"Oh," Emma pauses, feeling a small pang of loss for Micah before she clears her throat. "Alright. My turn, I suppose. Uh...I took Zelena back to the future and she, uh...kind of immediately escaped. To this time. She got the drop on me." 

Madelina groans, muttering in Low Southern. The expletives she uses cause Regina to put her hands over Henry's ears, who wriggles about, drawing attention to himself. Madelina eyes him, glancing at Leia. 

"This your boy?" 

"Yeah," Emma says awkwardly. "Uh, he jumped through the portal after me and Zelena, when I went after her." 

" _Dioses_ ," Madelina pats her forehead. "You are useless at times, Princess." 

"I'm not useless," Emma squawks, before Madelina points at Regina. 

"Now, who is this, if the boy is little Henry." 

"You know my name?" Henry questions, before Emma removes the glamour over Regina's face. Madelina stares at her for a few moments, Regina looking distinctly unsettled. 

"Hello...whoever you are," Madelina says, looking at Emma pointedly. "You might have shown me her face, but that doesn't mean I automatically know who she is." 

Emma flushes. "Right. Sorry, uh...Madelina-" 

"I can introduce myself,  _Leia,_ " Regina cuts in, curtseying quickly. "Queen Regina, your niece, Lady Madelina." 

"...you're prettier than your mother," Madelina shakes her pointed finger at her, "that's for damn sure. Get over here, now." 

Regina steps closer, face shutting down – Emma can see it, can see her expecting the worst. But Madelina stands, cracking her back as she hugs Regina gently, head tucking into her shoulder. Regina is still for a few moments, processing the positive contact, before she reciprocates. 

"It's lovely to meet you,  _mijita_ _,_ " Madelina greets quietly, leaning away. "I've got a present for you, if you want it." 

"I- I would," Regina stutters, watching Madelina with such a vulnerable expression, arms curling around herself as Madelina pages through the tavern books, coming out with a folded piece of parchment. She hands it over, Regina unfolding it, eyes scanning what looks from afar, to be a list. All of a sudden, Emma puts a hand to her mouth, covering her laugh. "Is..." 

"What is it, Mom?" Henry questions eagerly. 

"That, my dear, is a recommended list of alcoholic beverages and spirits, something you should have been given when you were fifteen," Madelina scowls, "if your mother hadn't been such a bitch. She sent me a note saying she'd burnt my copy of it." 

"She didn't, actually," Regina says gently, eyes glued to the paper. "This was part of my education, growing up. She lied to you. I didn't realise that you wrote this, though – I should have known, though. Mother's handwriting was never this good." 

"It's called practice, something your mother refused to do," Madelina states, sounding as if she were both hurt and smug. "One and done, that was her." 

Regina visibly swallows, refolding the paper gently and tucking it into her bodice. "I lost the old copy years ago. Thank-you for this." 

Madelina takes Regina's hands, patting them. "Don't worry over it. I'd rather you have it, in your far-off future in another realm, than here and now. I think you deserve it more, as well – the break required for consuming these is long, after all." 

The queen's lip twitches, before she voluntarily hugs Madelina. Emma looks away, aware that Regina is only ever this showy with Henry – who, he himself, looks like he wants to be properly introduced to Madelina. 

The door to the tavern opens, Reyda slipping inside. "What did I miss?" She sees Regina hugging Madelina and immediately, her eyes widen. " _Oh._  You- that..." Reyda looks to Emma wildly, "That is the  _Queen_." 

"Her future self," Emma replies quietly, before reapplying the glamour. Regina stiffens, looking at Emma in confusion, but she shakes her head. "Anyone could walk in. Best not ruin your younger self's reputation." 

"I...yes," Regina agrees, Madelina tutting as she moves away to discover Regina's fake face. "We have to get Robin, now." 

"Will he have made it to your, what, castle? Dungeon?" 

"By now, he will have," Regina says, grim. "My younger self won't put Marian in the same cell as him, though." 

"It's just one more lock to pick," Emma shrugs uneasily. 

"Oh, what have you done now?" Madelina looks at Emma, who puts her hands up. 

"Not my fault. Robin Hood from the future decided his wife was more important than preserving the time-line." 

"Admittedly," Regina interrupts quietly, guilt etched all over her face, "I may have murdered his wife in the original timeline, or I will. It's not very conducive to a relationship." 

"Do you remember killing her?" Emma asks uncomfortably, glancing at Henry. Likewise, Regina glances at Henry, looking away as, ashamedly, she shakes her head. 

"I know you were evil, Mom," Henry says. "You don't have to tiptoe around me. You've changed." 

"Not yet, not in this time." 

"Enough," Emma cuts in, "Can we feasibly break into your dungeons, Regina and rescue them both?" 

"I am me, so yes," Regina states wearily. "I could probably get away with acting as myself, do it all myself." 

"Would you?" Emma questions, concerned. Reaching out, she touches Regina's elbow. The woman seems so tired and haggard, distraught at the thought of losing the one she loves to a dead wife.  _Like Neal and Tamara, before it got shitty,_ Emma thinks, drawing up her courage. 

Hugging Regina is strange. She's never even really touched her before and Regina certainly startles at the contact, but quickly relaxes into it – too quickly, practically boneless. 

"I know this is really, really, really,  _really_  shitty," Emma mumbles into her ear, "but you can get through this. You have people who love you, who aren't failing at rescuing dead women. Henry loves you, I think my mother still loves you for some reason-" 

Regina snorts into her shoulder, voice muffled. "Simpering Snow, never failing to do anything _._ " 

"-and me," Emma adds, immediately feeling awkward.  _Okay. Did not mean to say that. Where was I going with this? Do I even love Regina?_  The thing is...Emma doesn't think she does. So, technically, she just lied. But Emma is fond of her and she's Henry's other mother, which is...definitely a big thing.  _I promise, we're going to make it out of this one and then have like, a proper parent-parent relationship appropriate to the situation._  

In her embrace, Regina snorts. "I somehow doubt that," she says, but Emma can feel something wet on her neck. The intimacy really hits her, then and it feels so very, very awkward.  _We're barely friends._  

"I'd like that to be true, eventually," Emma says tentatively, still keeping quiet so their conversation is to themselves. "For Henry, if nothing else. I'd...I'd really like to be your friend." 

"Me too," Regina admits, arms squeezing slightly around her before she steps away, delicately wiping her eyes. "Would you like to accompany me to the castle? You'd have to disguise yourself as a Black Knight." 

"What about me?" Henry questions. 

"You're staying here," Regina says, taking charge. She looks to Madelina. "Watch after him for me?" 

"I'll keep him out of trouble," Madelina promises. Emma smiles at her friend, nodding in thanks. 

"Good," Regina continues, hugging Henry tightly before looking him in the eye. "Be good. Stay out of trouble and out of sight – stay in here, if you can, where people can't see you. Time travel is dangerous. One small slip could have severe consequences." 

"It's alright, Mom," Henry says, "I've seen all of the  _Back to the Future_  movies. But I still want to help." 

"You can help me," Madelina interjects, "Are you good with numbers?" 

"...yeah," Henry nods hesitantly. 

"Very well," Madelina looks to Emma and Regina, "Both of you, go play dress-up and rescue this Robin, fellow. Off with you." 

"Nice to see you, too, Madelina," Emma replies before Regina takes her hand, transporting them to a cold, dark alcove beside a set of stairs. A few moments later, magic swirling around them both, Emma is in a Black Knight uniform, a sword appearing on her belt and Regina's hair and make-up is done to the nines. Emma removes Regina's fake face before she forgets, committing the motion to memory for a quicker up and down. 

"Stay a few paces behind me," Regina instructs. " _Don't_  speak." 

"Got it," Emma says, before following Regina out down the stairs into a corridor, the earthy, putrid smell of the dungeon hitting her a second later. Regina's entire posture changes as she moves into the light, a nearby pair of Black Guards straightening. 

"Your Majesty!" They say as one. 

Regina sneers, "Have the new prisoners been placed, yet?" 

"Yes, Your Majesty – just down the corridor, Your Majesty." the one on the left directs, "One turn to your left and down." 

"Excellent," Regina dismisses them, stalking through the dungeons. Emma keeps as straight and stiff as she can, imitating the Black Knights she saw at the village. They pass by cells, only the bare minimum holding prisoners. It's only when they pass a middle-aged man that Emma stops, Regina still walking as Emma backtracks, staring at them. 

"I know you," she mutters, frowning deeply. The man blinks awake, looking up at her with familiar brown eyes and abruptly, Emma remembers what Madelina said about Micah. "Regina- stop!" Emma approaches the bars, Regina turning swiftly, a look of anger on her face. 

"What?" She barks, coming to Emma's side. At the sight of her, the man shrinks back, hiding his face in his shirt. "Who are you?" 

The man mumbles, but he can't be heard by normal ears. Luckily, Emma isn't so normal – not anymore. 

"Micah, it  _is_  you!" Emma tears off her helmet, crouching down in front of the bars. "It's not the real Evil Queen, she just looks like her – and it's  _me_ , Princess Leia, the one in the trousers!" 

Micah pulls his head out of his shirt slowly, looking at her in the dim light. "Leia?" 

"Yes, Leia, it's me, Micah," Emma reaches through the bars, taking his hand. "We're getting you out of here." 

"Really?" Regina mutters, but she doesn't hesitate before using her magic to open the door. Emma immediately comes inside, helping him to his feet. 

"Micah, I'm going to transport you to Cáliz, to Madelina's tavern." Emma says, prepared to send him only for Regina to grab her arm. 

"Don't," she warns, "you'll set off alarms." Regina waves her hand and the next moment, a cloud of purple teleports Micah away, out of the dungeon. "We have to find Robin." 

"And Marian," Emma adds, shutting the cell door quietly. Regina purses her lips before motioning for Emma to put her helmet back on. 

It isn't hard to find Robin and Marian. What is funny though, is who Marian is sharing a cell with. 

"Zelena," Regina greets, amusement leaking through her voice. Zelena looks up at her sharply, frowning. 

"How do you know me?" 

"The same way time travellers always do," Emma replies from her side, looking to Robin, who loses some tension in his shoulders even if he doesn't let go of Marian's hands through the bars between their shelves. 

"I've told Marian my tale, but until...well, until Zelena did something to her heart, she didn't believe me," Robin says. 

"Oh my god, what did you do now, Zelena?" Emma groans, the Wicked Witch of the West glaring triumphantly. 

"Tied us together. What happens to her, happens to me and vice versa, Saviour." 

"I'll fix whatever she's done later," Regina says, voice curt. Emma watches as Marian swallows in fear, looking at Regina with trepidation. Regina obviously sees it as well, because she removes the part of her disguise she added for authenticity. "I'm not my younger self. I'm...redeemed." 

"She's got the Saviour's seal of approval," Zelena adds, disgust audible. "Don't worry." 

"Regina, prison doors?" Emma prompts, before looking to the wickedest of said prisoners. "Where's the Black Fairy's Wand?" 

Zelena's lips twist and for a moment, she obviously battles with telling Emma. Then, she rolls her eyes, muttering, "Security is better, back in the here and now. Regina confiscated it." 

"Then we aren't getting it back," Regina says, opening Robin's door with a grimace. "And until I can find a magic-nulling cuff, you aren't leaving that cell." 

"What about Marian?" Robin cuts in, looking betrayed. "Regina-" 

"Don't," Emma interrupts, angry on Regina's behalf. "You were the one to go get yourself captured by the Evil Queen, no less, all because you want to change time. Well done, it's happening – but not until we can contain your wife's cell-mate." Robin looks like he wants to complain, but Emma ignores him, putting a hand to Regina's elbow. "I know where to get a cuff." 

"Where?" Regina questions. 

Emma grimaces. "I don't like it, but we might have to go beg a favour off Gold." 

Regina makes an equally-as distasteful expression. "Lovely. Just who I wanted to see." 

"It's that or kill her," Emma says, "and I think staying away from your past is just as important in the moral sense as it is in the physical sense." 

"Oh, so  _I'd_  be the one to kill her?" Regina questions. 

"Aren't you forgetting?" Robin interrupts angrily, "The witch tied her heart to Marian's!" 

"You're lucky," Zelena states, coming up to the cell bars, glaring as she grins, "if you hadn't been here, I would have done a lot worse. Trust me on that. There's nothing I can do in this time except cause my sister here pain and misery in the future...and  _oh_ , whose wife am I sharing a cell with, hmm?" She raises an eyebrow, looking from Robin to Regina before stepping back, cackling to herself. 

Gritting her teeth, Emma goes to speak only for darkness to spread through her vision.  _Shit, come back. Eyesight, come back right now-_  

"I know where I'd keep the Wand, but I won't be able to sashay through my castle to get it – not when my younger self is running around." 

"So, we distract her," Emma says, pretty distracted herself as she tries to focus her gaze somewhere until her sight returns. Luckily, she's still wearing her helmet.  _For once, my disguise actually comes in handy, other when facing young Regina's and Cora's...wait._ "I think I have an idea." 

"What is it?" Regina questions. 

"It involves me doing something a little reckless," Emma admits, the idea revolving around in her head. "If a messenger came up to you, asking to see both you  _and_  your father at the same time, what would you do?" 

"...why do I not like where this is going?" 

"It involves talking and maybe shitting on your mother's reputation via gossip," Emma admits. 

"Oh no, you are  _not_  going to tell my younger self that!" Regina hisses, voice harsh. "What if she believes it? What if she confronts Rumplestiltskin?" 

"Is there a way to test it in this realm anyway?" Emma asks, "I could just say that Cora slept around, that I saw her with people when I was guarding her. You have to admit, it's not  _that_  bad of an idea. If your younger self met me in some kind of study..." 

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Regina mutters, sighing, "but if you did,  _if_  you did, you wouldn't be turned away if you asked to speak in the gardens. I like my gardens, here." 

"You like your gardens in Storybrooke, too," Robin says quietly, sounding forlorn and slightly lost.  _Oh, feeling the guilt now, are we?_  Emma rolls her eyes. 

"Transport me outside the castle doors, would you, Regina?" 

"Palace," she corrects quietly. "I'll snoop around when I feel her get angry...I'm not so good at hiding my emotions, in this time." 

"Yeah, I felt them earlier," Emma recalls, wincing slightly. 

"One question, before you go," Regina starts, sounding as if she's thinking about something important. "How long were you in the past? Because by the sounds of it, you were around long enough to be able to question my parentage  _and_  be there when I was born. That is far longer than several weeks, Miss Swan." 

Emma swallows nervously. 

"Promise not to tell anyone, especially Henry?" 

"...I swear, Emma." 

 _She called me Emma. She has to be serious._  

"Nearly a year and a half," Emma admits quietly, wincing at Regina's answering hiss of pain on her behalf. "Don't tell." 

"I won't," Regina murmurs, before teleportation magic – Regina's magic – encases her, transporting her to a set of steps. Emma, as soon as she appears, changes back into her original outfit of brown leather trousers, white tunic and black, gold-embroidered hood; then, she summons the walking cane given to her by Maleficent from the Forbidden Fortress, tapping the cobbled ground with it loudly. She reaches out with her magic, feeling for people and finding guards almost directly ahead. 

"Who goes there?" One asks threateningly. 

"I seek His Lord, Prince Henry and Her Majesty, Queen Regina of this Kingdom," Emma states, pretending to be grand and majestic, keeping her features placid and her eyes steady, in forwards position. "If I could meet with them in the gardens, that would be...acceptable." 

"Who are you to ask?" The other guard questions, more wary than his compatriot. 

Emma lifts her chin. "The Apprentice. Prince Henry and I met, many years ago, before Regina was born. He'll know who I am, even if the girl doesn't." 

"Be respectful of Her Majesty," warns the wary guard. "Many people are apprentices, though – why are you special?" 

Emma spins her cane, slamming it on the ground as she reaches up and up and up, her magic making thunder rumble in the sky and lightning crash. Emma grins, flipping her hood up with her spare hand as it starts to rain. 

"Because I am Apprentice to a magician." 

* * *

She's still making the sky cry when the Evil Queen walks up to her, the familiar presence of her father at her side. Emma, leaning on Regina's apple tree, an apple itself in hand, half-eaten, faces away from them, eyes shut as her blindness continues to prevail. 

"The guards say you asked for an audience – that you are a Magician's Apprentice," the Evil Queen starts, sounding calm and even curious. Emma eats a little more of her apple, listening carefully as Prince Henry's heart-beat rises, air sucking into his lungs sharply. 

"She is Apprentice to no ordinary magician," Prince Henry speaks, sounding older and frailer, but still the same. Emma smiles a touch, remembering a young man so afraid of the darkness and so in love with his heartless, cheating wife. "I remember you." 

"I remember you, too," Emma replies, still not turning around, just for the drama of it – though, seeing as she  _can't_  see, what point would there be anyway? "You and I, Regina, we've met too." 

"It is  _Your Majesty_ , unless you are the man standing beside me," she says, sounding the slightest bit angry. 

"I was there when you were born, so, uh,  _no_  to that, thanks." Emma finishes her apple, dropping the core by the roots of the tree as she turns to face them. She can't see them and to Henry, it must be apparent something is different. 

"Your eyes..." He murmurs. 

"Accident. I can't see, most of the time. That's what happens when you play around in things you've never fucked with before." Emma shrugs, leaning on her cane, balancing a bit on it, swaying side to side. "Call me the Blind Witch, if you want, but I think someone already took that title." 

"She did indeed," Regina replies, sounding intrigued, "she's a friend of mine." 

"Define  _friend_ ," Emma says, curious.  _She's friends with the witch Hansel and Gretal kill? Or did that not happen like it did in Grimm's_ _Fairytales_ _?_  "I saw you in the village. Nice hostages." 

"...I recognise you now," she hums. "Spying?" 

"Reconnaissance, you know how it is," Emma shrugs, standing up straight, feeling almost like Mr Gold how she's been using her cane, though he probably didn't summon a thunderstorm that completely soaked his hood.  _I should probably stop that, now._  Facing her head up, Emma taps her cane again, liking how she uses it as a cue for her magic to end the storm, the sun shining brightly on her face a few moments later. 

"Impressive. Weather magic is surprisingly...difficult." 

"I'm good at difficult magic," Emma murmurs, looking in their direction again. "I had nothing to do for months. I got good at filling my time. Anyway, I'm not here about me." 

"Yes, why are you here? And why did you ask for my father?" 

"I'm here to spread confusion and disruption," Emma replies, smiling slightly. "Cora was extremely unfaithful to her husband, you see. I should know, seeing as we shared a room." 

The Evil Queen's disgust is easily felt, but surprisingly, it's Prince Henry's sadness that makes Emma question what she's doing, her magic detecting the down-tilt of his aura.  _We need the wand, but not at the expense of Prince Henry's heart,_ she thinks, swallowing, smile disappearing. 

"Your father doesn't have to be here," Emma tries to let him off, but the man makes a noise of protest. 

"I will not leave my daughter with you alone, Dark Apprentice." 

"Daddy, leave her to me," the Evil Queen says to him quietly, magic and that vicious, protective anger becoming particularly, unpleasantly palpable. 

 _And there is Regina's cue,_ Emma thinks.  _Showtime._  

"I was allies with Cora for a long time, almost the entirety of the time she was pregnant with you. There was an assassin out for you both – you remember, don't you, Prince Henry?" 

"I do. Cora asked that we call upon the Dark One," he says, voice rumbling slightly. 

"Rumple?" The Evil Queen frowns, "Him?" 

"Yeah," Emma jumps in, "he was my teacher, like he was yours, except I ran...errands. Took up protective detail when it was requested of him, from King Xavier. The price was the assassin, for me, and a favour, for Rumple." 

"What was his favour?" 

Emma winces, "I used it. Your mother overheard something she was willing to forget. King Xavier's favour was to let Cora take the memory potion. She didn't want to spoil your chances in life." 

"Is Regina not my daughter?" Prince Henry asks, sounding heartbroken. "Is that what she wanted to forget?" 

"Regina is your daughter," Emma can't help but reply, good heart unable to let the truth be denied – not when she spent so long in the system, going from place to place, losing faith in every adult she ever knew. "You raised her and you loved her. You're her father, Prince Henry, don't ever forget that. You are the thing she loves most in this world and that is...that is  _so_  precious, you don't even know how much." 

"You didn't answer the questions," the Evil Queen says, sounding hurt on her father's behalf, sad and still so angry, but...it's muted, compared to that empathy. "Say the truth – tell me what you know." 

"I know that your mother either had you two months early, or right on time. She always thought Henry was the father because she took certain teas, or something – but I was never so sure they worked, which is  _my_  truth." Emma says, telling the absolute truth. 

"What is the  _reality_ , then?" The Evil Queen questions. 

"Gossip," Emma says, feeling a familiar tendril of magic reaching up from the lowest depths of the castle. She shuts her eyes, the Evil Queen's confusion audible. 

"What is that? I don't understand," the Evil Queen reaches out too, using far more control than Emma thought she had and lightning-quick, the Regina of the future disappears from Emma's senses. 

"I'm sorry our acquaintance couldn't be prolonged," Emma says, walking over, closer. She reaches out slowly, hesitant and scared, but Henry takes her hand and she squeezes it. "I'm sorry for saying all these things, but...in truth, it really all was gossip. I did catch Cora with another man before your wedding and that you loved her is...amazing, Prince Henry. She didn't deserve you. The thing I am less sorry for is the fact that this was a distraction for a friend of mine who is currently absconding with some prisoners." 

"Who is  _what?_ " The Evil Queen exclaims, anger spiking. Emma grins, letting go of Prince Henry, hearing his startled, muffled laugh as she teleports away, back to the dungeons where she can sense Regina waiting impatiently. 

"The Wand let me put Zelena under a temporary sleeping curse," she snaps, "but we don't have a lot of time." 

"No, we don't," Emma laughs, breathless, hearing the Evil Queen roar from the dungeon entry-way as she stalks towards them. "Take us all back to the tavern, I'll take Zelena to Rumple's." 

"What the hell did you do?" Regina questions before taking them where Emma asked, the Saviour searching for Zelena on the ground and finding her easily. "I'm coming with you," she says, reaching out to take Emma's arm. 

"It'll be easier if you don't," Emma says, before putting Regina's Salma Hayek mask back on and after a second's worth of thought, disguises Zelena too – this is her time as well, after all. "Let's go." 

Emma is the one to teleport them this time and when they appear in the Dark Castle, in Emma's room, Regina startles her by clutching tighter, looking around her room in awe – even as the castle says hello to them both and Emma's sight returns. 

"How long did you live here?" Regina questions, eyes flipping from surface to surface, object to object. Emma takes a moment to grasp why, becoming slightly embarrassed, feeling like she's showing her own soul all of a sudden as Regina reaches out with a wisp of magic, taking note of everything Emma imbued her magic into, giving it a purpose. 

"A few months. A year. I spent most of my time with Cora, towards the end of my time with Gold," Emma says, shrugging and levitating Zelena onto the bed. No sooner has she laid Zelena on the cover, however, does a slit in space-time open, Salma Hayek in Emma's red dress and a stranger in Emma's clothes tipping out with a blue bundle of fabric. 

It takes Emma too long to realise that they're future versions of them – of Emma and Regina. 

"What?" 

"We're creating a fixed point," Future Regina says and it's then that Emma notices the blonde woman in blue at her side, Regina pulling her up onto her shoulder.  _Not a bundle of fabric. A person._ She has blonde hair in a braid coming down the side of her shoulder like Emma does – both versions of themselves, even. "We're going to collect Henry, Robin and Marian now," she continues, sounding exhausted. 

"We understand," Regina says to her future self, the two of them watching as Future Emma slams on the magic-nulling cuff onto Zelena's wrist, dragging her into a fireman's carry that looks pretty uncomfortable, something that Emma now dreads having to do. 

Frankly, it's weird seeing them there, but at the same time, with the glamours on, Emma isn't having as much trouble as she would if she had been seeing herself and Regina.  _Thank god my sight came back – this would have been weird for Regina to explain, plus I'd have to tell her._  

"Okay, here we go," Future Emma says, twisting the Black Fairy's Wand and causing another portal to appear, right where the slit in space-time had been immediately prior. The four disappear and Emma feels a certain amount of relief at not having Zelena to look after – but Regina, however, just seems more stressed than before. 

"We have to get that cuff," Regina says, taking Emma's hand and teleporting them to the Great Hall. There, Rumplestiltskin is spinning at his wheel, looking curiously at the ceiling. "Dark One." 

"I'm busy," he says, still looking at the ceiling. Emma wonders if he sensed all the magic in her room, which the castle should be hiding from him as she ordered it to, in the past. Then, he blinks and angrily shakes his head, muttering to himself, teleporting with a pop right in front of them, grinning. "What do you have to trade?" 

Regina and Emma glance at each other, before Emma looks at her cane, which she still holds in her spare hand. The dragon handle gleams, the emerald eyes glowing with stored power. Mal had called it 'back-up', if she ever was put in a cuff like Zelena's. Gripping it tightly for a moment, Emma wonders if she's making a mistake as she holds it out. 

"This, for a magic-nulling cuff. My friend's sister is being a magical nuisance to everyone we know." 

Rumplestiltskin giggles, leaning closer to look at the cane, hands ghosting over the black wood before he claps happily at the handle, magic reaching out to assess the properties. 

"Deal!" He exclaims. 

Rumple pops away, reappearing a moment later. He hands the cuff over to Regina, grabbing the cane from Emma, who holds it tightly for a moment longer than she should before letting it go. Rumple tuts, waving his gnarled, scaled finger. 

"Naughty. Now, go away." 

He waves his hand and then they are outside, banished to the gates of the Dark Castle. 

"That was easy," Regina says frankly, looking to Emma, making the cuff disappear to somewhere – somewhere safe, hopefully. "What was that you traded?" 

"A gift," Emma says, quite afraid.  _Gifts shouldn't be gifted,_ she thinks, before abruptly, they find themselves back in Rumple's Great Hall, the cane smoking and blackened on the ground in front of them. 

Rumple glares, darkly. "Think you could get away with that, dearie? That cane was hand-crafted, locked with blood-magic to one person –  _you._ " He points at Emma, smiling creepily. "Because you could hold it, couldn't you? Without it  _blowing up in your face!_ " 

"I didn't know," Emma says, alarmed, looking to the cane on the ground. "I..." 

"I, I, I-  _I don't care._ " Rumple glares, whizzing his hand across, the cane disappearing. "That thing is going to the Vault, because obviously, it's very dangerous indeed if it can harm  _me._ " He raises his hands and suddenly, Emma can see the charred, blackened skin of his palms, not healing like it should when faced with the Dark One's magic. "Dragon-fire, you're playing with dangerous creatures, dearie. Tell me, why did you need the cuff? Where is it now?" 

He makes a face, looking at Regina's empty hands. Emma panics, forgetting to hide her magic, her flame roaring to life inside and a little over the top, with all her nervous energy. Rumple stares at her, eyes glued to her all of a sudden. 

"Hybrid," he whispers, "You're a rare specimen. Dangerous specimen. Let's put you in the Vault too, along with your friend." Then, from the Great Hall, they're transported to a tall, tall room full of dusty objects, Rumple standing in front of them with a dangerously blank face. He tilts his head, then disappears. 

Emma sucks in a breath, trying to calm the wildfire inside, right as Regina starts yelling. 

"What the  _hell_ , Swan? What was that? What  _exactly_  did you give to Rumple and why in the names of the gods did he call you a hybrid?" Regina grabs Emma's shoulders, pulling her close with a very human growl. "How do you know Maleficent? Why did she give you that cane? What does that cane even do?" 

"Let go of me," Emma says, feeling the pressure of too much conversation. How long has she been around only one person at a time? Why is she this ramped up when Regina is around? What is it about Regina that makes her so nervous and frantic, even as she struggles to answer a few basic questions?"

"Come on, Emma, it isn't that hard," Regina sneers and Emma tries to teleport them away, out of this Vault to Madelina – but it doesn't work. Which doesn't help her panic. 

Breathing in and out faster than Emma can count, she shakes her head, reaching up to pull Regina's arms off her, pushing her away. Regina stumbles slightly, banging into a cabinet. Emma finds the nearest chair, sitting down and covering her eyes, trying to calm down, not wanting to shout or scream at this woman, who she wants to be  _friends_  with, dammit! 

 _I can't shout at her, I won't,_ Emma thinks, focusing on internalising her magic.  _Breathe in and out, in and out..._  It's hard, though. She can feel Maleficent, even though it's blocked. Without thinking, she tries to go through it, to feel whole again, but it only makes her cry out in pain, causing a full-body shudder that wracks through every bone and every muscle, right down to her fingers and toes. 

"Emma," Regina snaps, trying to get her attention. "Emma, answer the goddamn questions!" 

"Give me a minute!" She exclaims, opening her eyes to look at Regina and immediately recoiling at the unexpected darkness.  _No, come on, this is unfair. Not right now._  

"What the hell is wrong with your eyes?" Regina questions, still so angry and frustrated. "What is going on with you, Emma Swan?" 

"It's just Emma!" She exclaims, rather loudly and horridly. She doesn't even realise what she's saying until she's said it, breathing in deep as she confusedly buries her head in her hands.  _What was that? I'm Emma Swan. I'm Emma Swan, Sherriff of_ _Storybrooke_ _._  

She's left in blissful silence for minutes, minutes in which she tries to calm down, tries to ignore how the darkness makes everything so much more frightening. Emma wants familiar – she wants the lake in Storybrooke, the Bug or even just her blanket, a companion to her throughout nearly her entire life. Her satchel weighs on her, then, the Book inside brimming with foreign magic. Emma almost wants to throw it into this Vault, somewhere she never has to pick it up again. 

"I found your cane," Regina says, eventually, voice far away. "I shouldn't pick it up, should I?" 

"It burned Rumple," Emma says. "I didn't know it could do that." 

"Mal always protects what's hers." Emma hears Regina get closer, heels clicking on the ground. "I've wrapped it up in some kind of magic-nulling blanket. I think it used to belong to a child – it reminds me of Red's Cloak, actually." 

"I don't want it," Emma says, hearing Regina sigh irritably, dropping her cane somewhere close by. She winces at the clatter. "Mal gave it to me after my accident." 

"Yes, this  _accident..._ in the tavern, that woman said something. I can't remember what it was, but I assume it has something to do with your eyes. What did you do to them?" 

"A potion blew up in my face," Emma replies bluntly, tired and hungry – the apple had hardly been substantial and she'd spent the whole day with Mal before returning to Storybrooke for all of ten seconds. The excitement of the past few hours is wearing her down and honestly...honestly, Emma will be happy for it to be over, soon. "I can't see, sometimes. It comes and goes." 

"...that's awful," Regina says. 

"I think I'd prefer to be blind all the time. I mean, I'd prefer to see, but if I had a choice between this or blindness, it would be easier to be blind," Emma says, feeling out where Regina's magic congregates and looking as well as she can in that direction. "I'm sorry I got us in this mess. I was stupid when I chose to appear in front of Granny's – I should have known not to aim for somewhere without grass, especially considering my last experiences with portals." 

"No," Regina says after a moment. "Robin was the one to wish he was in the same time as his wife." 

"Blaming him now, are we?" Emma questions with a chuckle. 

"Well, we aren't on good terms anymore," Regina says faux-brightly, turning bitter again as she continues. "I should have known it wouldn't work out. Soulmates,  _hah_. Tinkerbell should never have tried." 

"Hey, just forget about him," Emma says, before thinking something funny, "You can be my soulmate instead – I even have a tattoo." Pushing up her sleeve, Emma pushes her cloak out of the way, holding out her daisy tattoo for Regina to see. 

"It's even a  _lyon_  tattoo," Regina chuckles, "Daisies. Lyon flowers, in other words...it must be a coincidence you have that, because truthfully, your mothers banner has lyon flowers on it." 

"It does?" Emma questions, surprised. "That's a hell of a coincidence." 

"It is," Regina is silent for a time, before she speaks. "Maybe it was a mistake – the pixie dust, I mean. In general, following it, putting faith in it..." 

"'I believe in fairies'," Emma quotes. "'I do, I do'." 

"What are you saying?" 

"A movie about a nice Peter Pan – live-action, hella adorable. Fairies die if you say you don't believe in them. Tinkerbell is brought back to life by Wendy and the Lost Boys chanting it over and over and over...maybe faith is what makes it real. After all, the stuff from my world isn't always completely wrong." 

"Faith," Regina repeats idly, before she walks nearer to Emma, crouching in front of her and taking her face delicately, looking at her eyes, presumably. "You really did something, didn't you, Emma?" 

"Something stupid," Emma corrects. 

"No. Blowing up potions is part of learning. I certainly did." 

"Which one?" Emma questions. 

"Well..." Regina pauses. "More, I made it wrong. Infertility curses are hard to break, especially when they're done wrong. So you could say I...blew up my chance of having my own blood child. It's why I adopted Henry, in the end." 

"I'm glad you did," Emma replies, before Regina's hand slips down to her cheeks. 

"Thank-you, for him," she says, leaning closer and closer, until Emma genuinely thinks they're going to kiss. 

Regina kisses her forehead, instead. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> to be edited tomorrow bc i'm dead tired bc i'm a hobgoblin.

"This is certainly odd," Regina picks something up, that jingles like chainmail. "I thought I put these to my vault..." 

"Put what to your vault?" Emma queries, curled up on an armchair Regina assures her is a normal armchair, except for the sleeping enchantment on it meant to ensnare humans – ergo, Emma is fine napping on it, even if Regina isn't. Emma had put off explaining what that meant to her friend, who made a suspicious-sounding hum before wandering the Dark One's Vault. 

"I was being a nuisance," she replies, drifting slightly, "I played a trick on some guards, early in my reign – vanished their uniforms, piece by piece. They were a different colour, before. I wasn't known to be a sorceress then, so they couldn't rightly know it was me. I thought I sent their things to the vault under my father's estate – my vault, before I became more selective about where I sent things automatically." 

"It's kind of weird that you found them here," Emma admits, adjusting her shirt and belt that had been put awry from her little sleep. "Funny, but weird." 

Standing, she reaches out to find her, only to come across a tiny, distressed presence. Unfamiliar magic, trapped in a container – a _person_. Slow to walk over, wary of anything in the Dark One's Vault, Emma finds a cabinet, opening the doors. 

She moves her hand through it evenly, finding a cup or trophy of some kind, the metal biting cold. _There's someone in here,_ she thinks, setting it down on a nearby table as she inspects the cabinet. The wardrobe section seems to be empty, but the drawers below it holds some kind of jewellery display, the magic of each piece malicious and deadly, in one case – Emma makes sure not to even brush that one, unaware of how it might affect her, even as some weird, dragon hybrid. 

Regina reappears by her side as she inspects them. "These are mine," she says, baffled. 

Her words pull Emma up short. "Really?" 

"Well, unless Rumple has stolen my collection, then yes," Regina's elbow brushes hers as she leans forwards, going to pick them up and Emma pounces, stopping her before she can. 

"They'll hurt you." 

"Emma, I _made_ them," Regina scoffs. Emma frowns thoughtfully, before inspecting their magical signature and strangely, she recognises Regina's magic after a moment. It feels younger, more twisted and malignant – but it _is_ Regina's. 

"Oh," she lets go of the other woman's arm, feeling the magic move as Regina picks them up. Emma wonders if this difference is because Regina has evolved over the years, her magic with her. "Can I ask a question?" 

"You _may_." 

Rolling her eyes at the correction, Emma continues on, "Why do you think our future selves came to the past and took Zelena? Who was the other person with them?" 

"We created a fixed point in time when we saw ourselves, so it has to happen, no matter the cost. We risk breaking the space-time continuum if we do not," Regina says, deadly serious, sounding troubled. "As for the woman, I have no idea. She was remarkably familiar, however." 

"Like, you've met before on bad terms, familiar or you saw her at a party once?" 

"Neither," Regina admits carefully, "Her magic, though...it reminded me of you." 

"Me?" Emma frowns. 

"Yes..." Regina trails off, before picking up the trapped person Emma found earlier. "This is her." 

"This is _what?_ " Emma startles, "You mean, the woman with us in the future- in the past- you mean, we rescue her from this Vault?" 

"We must," Regina swallows audibly, "even if it means taking a potential danger back to Storybrooke with us." 

"We're already doing that with Zelena," Emma licks her lips, before reaching over, finding Regina's wrist and using it as a way to find the trophy-cup, taking the lid and beginning to pull, only for Regina to stop her. 

"Wait. If she really is a danger, anything could happen when we take her out," she warns, putting the trophy-cup back down – _it's a prison,_ Emma thinks – and drawing Emma away from it. "We need a plan." 

"Uh," Emma doesn't know what to say. _It's not like we're on familiar ground. We're in the Dark One's Vault surrounded by hostile magical objects-_ a lightbulb in her head flickers on, a grin spreading across her face. "We have everything we need right here!" 

"What-" Regina stops, letting out a startled laugh, "Of course! This place is _full_ of magic that even _Rumple_ doesn't want to mess with." 

"And your things, too," Emma says, wondering if that's linked, a thought occurring to her – _what if Regina really is his daughter and that's why she's connected to this place?_ The way Regina's magic fluctuates then, causes Emma to believe that Regina might have had the same thought. 

"You're right," Regina says, before walking off towards some artefact or other. Emma hears the rustle of fabric, before feeling Regina's magic constrict and twist inside itself, abruptly disappearing. 

"Regina?" She exclaims, "Where-" 

"I'm fine, Emma," Regina interrupts, sounding strained, her boot heels clicking against the ground. "I'm wearing a magic-nulling blanket. If the woman tries to attack with magic, I'll wrap her in it and we'll try to calm her down." 

"That sounds like a bad idea," Emma hedges. "Wrapping her in a blanket?" 

"A magic-nulling blanket," Regina corrects and there's a moment of silence, before she sighs, magic reappearing as she sets it down. "I'll rummage around. Maybe we could even take some things back with us – put a bee in Rumple's bonnet." 

"I think that counts as changing time," Emma says lightly. "Did you get the wand, by the way?" 

"Yes," Regina says, voice far off to the side. Emma shuffles, so the cabinet isn't in the way, Regina's voice more easily heard as she continues to speak. "I've found something useful already. Gods, Rumple is a complete hoarder – this isn't even that nasty. Probably didn't want anyone knowing he had it, though..." 

"What does he have?" Emma questions. 

"A ring meant to make the wearer invisible. A potential side-effect is being unable to take the ring off, but other than that, it isn't dangerous whatsoever." 

"Never being able to be seen again," Emma nods her head, "right, not dangerous _at all_." 

"It's not dangerous compared to this," Regina lifts something up, the magic around it muted but distorted. Emma doesn't understand it. "An eternity stone. When the magic is consumed, it grants the person eternal youth." 

Emma's eyes widen. "Eternal youth?" _Henry,_ she thinks, Maleficent's words reverberating through her head. _Dragons are immortal._ Immediately she wants it, to give to her son. _I_ _would never lose him – he'd be with me the entire time._  

"It's not as grand as it seems," Regina warns, putting the stone down. "There are better ways gain eternal life. I'd go as far as to say Neverland is better. The price for using the stone is far higher than one would think." 

 _I'll pay it,_ Emma thinks, taking a note of where the stone lays now, trying to figure out when would be the most appropriate time to steal it from under Regina's nose. _It's even harder with her being able to see me when I can't see her. Maybe I could just ask Gold about it in the future, he could tell me more about it anyway._  

Deciding that is a supremely better idea than trying to steal it in front of Regina, Emma reaches out around, trying to find something familiar. On the second floor, Emma recognises something of Maleficent's and teleports in front of it, catching Regina's attention. 

"What did you find?" Regina joins her – teleporting within the Vault seemed to be fine. 

"...have we even tried getting out yet?" Emma questions, before remembering she'd tried in her panic and it hadn't worked. 

"We'd alert Rumple if we managed it," Regina says, voice taking on an interesting tone. If Emma didn't know any better, she'd say Regina was embarrassed. "That can't help us." 

"What is it?" 

"It can't help us, Emma," Regina teleports them back to where she'd stood before. Emma narrows her eyes. 

"What was it?" 

"Something that can't help us, not in this particular situation – trust me, I've used it before," Regina says in a pacifying voice, but it's overlaying embarrassment. 

"If I levitated it, what would happen?" 

"Don't!" Regina exclaims, mortified. Emma raises her hand- "It's a torture device!" 

"Why don't I believe you?" 

Regina whines, " _Emma_ , please just...leave it alone, please, for both our sakes. You'd have stayed far away from it if you could see it." 

"What is it, then?" 

"...do I _have_ to tell you, so you'll stop asking?" 

Emma nods. 

There are a few seconds, before Regina mutters: "It's a sex chair." 

Quite appropriately, Emma coughs in surprise, putting a hand over her mouth at her own words. _A sex_ _chair_ _. Regina has a sex chair-_  

"Hold on a minute, but that's Mal's," Emma interrupts her own thoughts, pointing in the direction of the dreaded sex chair that Mal had obviously made. _God, she called it a torture device before. I can't believe we had that conversation- are_ ** _having_** _this conversation._ "You said _you_ used it." 

"Miss Swan," Regina clears her throat delicately, " _Emma_ , surely you can extrapolate." 

"I thought you were friends, not...uh, well," Emma crosses her arms awkwardly before frowning. "I hope I haven't changed anything." 

"What- what are you on about, now?" Regina starts, confusion audible. "I think you had better explain _exactly_ how you know Maleficent, Emma. No more stalling. We're completely alone here." 

"Here, which is a dungeon with a sex chair," Emma mutters. "Remember when I said someone wanted to marry me?" 

"Maleficent wanted to marry _you?_ " Regina asks, sceptical. Emma wrinkles her nose at the emphasis on Emma, rather than Mal. 

"I wouldn't exactly lie about it! It was all a little fucked up from the start-" 

"Language." 

"-which I'll admit; though on another note, your sex chair is upstairs, so don't start on me about language." 

"You shouldn't get into the habit of it," Regina harrumphs. 

Emma rolls her eyes, "Anyway." Shaking her head, Emma wonders where to start, deciding to just start from the beginning. 

"That afternoon, when my parents named my brother after Neal, I was a bit put-off by it. Upset. They hadn't consulted me on it, not even sneakily," Emma says, still no more at peace with it than she is over...over a lot of things, back in the Land Without Magic. "I went off in the Bug with Henry's Storybrooke and realised it wasn't PG, like...at all. We really shouldn't let him read it, I don't think." 

"PG?" Regina questions. 

"I read your mother's story, how she became married to your dad," Emma admits a little bashfully, rubbing the back of her head. "The not-PG part was the Book describing how Rumplestiltskin took Cora to bed." 

"I did not need to know that – but for once, you're right, Miss- _Emma_." Regina pauses, before clearing her throat. "Henry won't be allowed to read the Book any longer, _especially_ if the stories are that...mature." 

"Yeah," Emma agrees. "I saw the time portal in the sky and went to investigate. When I got there, I got sucked in and found myself at the mill where your mother lived. She made flour. Your grandfather had a knife, so I left pretty quick. I met Micah on the road – your uncle, Micah who we rescued from your dungeon." 

"My uncle," Regina mutters to herself, probably still having trouble processing that part. _Considering her_ _aunts_ _and uncles were all dead to her a couple of hours ago, she's taking it pretty well._  

"Micah told me how to get to Cáliz," Emma continues. "I got a job from Madelina in the tavern. I stayed with her for a few weeks, before Rumple finally showed up." 

"Finally?" 

"He was...busy, if you know what I mean," Emma replies, grimacing. 

" _Right._ " 

"Yeah...anyway," Emma clears her throat. "He basically put me on house-arrest in the Dark Castle after I explained what was going on, but brought it to my attention that Zelena probably came through with me. We made two deals. One was an apprenticeship in magic, the price to tell him the correct memory potion antidote in the future, so he'd remember me." 

"And the second?" Regina prompts. 

"To get me home, forwards in time," Emma replies. "I told him things about Neal- Baelfire. About Henry being his grandson. He was happy knowing, even though he was going to forget." 

"That was dangerous," the other witch scolds. 

The blonde shrugs a little, inwardly thinking that in the end, Emma really pulled through on that deal. _Getting me home involved the Wand and the Wand involved the Black Fairy, his_ ** _mother_** _, dying at his own hand._ Emma wonders what'll happen when he remembers – if he'll take out his grief on her, or if he processed it all, in those five months she was with Maleficent. 

"Why did he offer you an apprenticeship?" Regina questions, breaking Emma from her thoughts. 

"He offered when he realised I wasn't trained." 

"You mean," Regina murmurs, "that he realised your magic was impossibly powerful. You were magic in a magicless land all your life – it's a miracle you survived so long, forget being born with that much magic in your blood in the first place." 

"What?" Emma frowns, not understanding. 

"What, _what_ _?_ Magic needs magic to thrive," Regina states. "It's a basic fact. The Dark Curse was only powerful enough to bring small traces to the Land Without Magic and even then, most of it was rendered useless. You though – you really _are_ a miracle. You were born a powerhouse of magical energy and you managed to live in the Land Without Magic from less than a day old." 

"Is it really that special?" Emma asks, tentative. 

"Yes," Regina says, voice low and confident, with not a speck of doubt. "Gold recognised that – that's why he really offered you an apprenticeship. It paid off, obviously – even I can't make glamours as easily as you can." 

"That's just practice," Emma brushes it off. "I had to upkeep my own disguise for months on end." 

"Upkeep is easy," Regina replies sharply. "Using glamours is easy. What is _not_ easy is making them without thinking about it. I dread to think what might have happened in Storybrooke if you hadn't been trained before now." 

"Can we get back to the story?" Emma snaps, feeling strange an uneasy at these revelations. "Please?" 

"...this conversation isn't done," Regina warns gently, "If not for your self-worth, for your safety." 

A tense moment passes, before Emma nods and keeps on going. 

"Zelena attempted to assassinate Cora, a lot. It was excessive. King Xavier followed her advice and called the Dark One for a deal – he brought me and I took up body-guard duty for your mother and you. I was there every time Zelena tried to snuff you out of existence, every poisoned tea, every hidden knife," Emma says, closing her eyes, even though it doesn't do anything. She almost wants to hide, but in a way, not being able to see Regina react gives her confidence. "The day you were born, Zelena came herself. My wards trapped her in the tower and I got you to safety." 

"Rumple," Regina murmurs. "You told me, that first time you astral projected to the shop. He... _held_ me, for an hour." 

"He did," Emma confirms. "I gave you to him because I knew he'd keep you safe. He did. I went back and got Zelena, chucking her in the depths of the Dark Castle with a magic-nulling cuff around her wrist. Then, I made a memory potion for Cora." 

"Why?" 

"She heard Zelena speak about us – about the future, about who she was," Emma tells, "I think she was glad to take the memory potion, in the end. I used Rumple's favour from Xavier to get him to let her take it, though." 

Regina hisses. "Bad idea. You owe him, now." 

"I know, I know," Emma grimaces. "I didn't actually see much of him, after taking you away. He refused to come near me for months." 

"Really?" 

"Really," Emma confirms, gut twisting. "If it was true, he couldn't know. I told him you were born early. Rumple never knew the gossip." 

"The _gossip_ ," Regina repeats bitterly. "I hate that word. The _gossip._ You keep bringing it up, Emma." 

"Prince Henry is your father. You know more than anyone that blood doesn't always make family," Emma replies. "If Gold is too, then-" 

Regina's hands come to grip Emma's arms sharply, making her jump, her heart racing, "Then what? Then _what_ , Emma? I go off and play happy families? I already have to let him spend time with Henry because of Baelfire – if I was his daughter, that would be even more deliciously ironic." 

"Adopting your own nephew," Emma mutters, wincing. "I suppose the blood family stuff I said is kind of wrong, then." 

"You are _incorrigible,_ " Regina growls, letting go of her. "Continue your story!" 

Rubbing at her arms, Emma continues as ordered. "After moping for months, he showed up with the Black Fairy's Wand, getting me to open up the first portal. Except, the Wand took it a bit literally and opened up the very first portal it created, I think at least. The Black Fairy came soaring out of some dark realm. She threatened my life a couple of times and told a sad story about how she and Rumple were separated. They had a bit of a cat-fight, to be honest." 

Regina makes a noise of disgust. "Please don't tell me that vile fairy is another of his ex-partners." 

"It's worse than you think," Emma swallows, "She used the Shears of Destiny on him, when he was a baby, to stop him from being the Saviour who would lose his life destroying his enemy." 

"Wait, what? Rumplestiltskin: the _Saviour?_ " 

"Yeah," Emma clears her throat, "Yeah, that was pretty much his reaction. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy, or something. She was the enemy he would have to defeat. She cut his destiny away and it fell to me and...well, she was still threatening my life and I think he was emotional because he'd held a baby-" 

"He didn't," Regina interrupts in disbelief. Emma can imagine her face twisted in shocked horror. 

"He killed her. Used the Dagger to slice her throat, right in front of me... _for_ me. I shouted at him and teleported away. It was a stupid mistake. I ended up on a mountain with no clue where I was and got knocked unconscious." 

"Is that when you projected?" 

"Yes," Emma confirms. "Mal said I was near-death. She rescued me – she thought I was a dragon. Something must have happened, because when I woke up I had this...flame, inside my magic. It's hiding, now, before you ask, but it won't be long before it's too big to stay out of sight." 

"I don't understand," Regina admits, taking Emma's hand as she reaches out with her magic. Emma reaches for her, too, wanting her to see. She guides Regina and her silken, smoky purple magic in, gasping at the sensation it brings. She feels like she's showing her soul, her dragonfire roaring up and up to bathe Regina in it. 

Emma feels a pull, a thin bond forming between them, their magics entwining – but it's not like with Maleficent. With Maleficent, their magic became one, merging and becoming _more_. With Regina, they're sitting together, rushing around like children playing tag in a play-park. 

" _Oh_ ," Regina sounds helplessly lost, soft and innocent. With much regret, Emma pulls away, gently pushing Regina's magic back into herself, raising walls – thin walls, paper walls, walls barely thick enough to get her point across. Regina takes the hint, retreating. Emma wished it lasted longer than just a few seconds. "That was...impossibly amazing." 

"I _am_ that good, I know," Emma says, injecting humour back into the situation. Regina laughs and it's a full-bellied laugh, hand squeezing Emma's as she shakes her head. 

"You should show me some time," she replies. "...I winked." 

Emma winks back with a small smile, wondering how they got to flirting. _It started with the sex chair,_ Emma thinks, feeling drunk on magical interaction. _Definitely the sex chair._  

"Mal says I'm a hybrid," she speaks, "that I have dragon ancestry. It's the only way. She put me under house-arrest as well, actually, but I wanted to leave – I wanted to come home." 

"We all wanted you to come home," Regina replies. "Why did Mal want to marry you?" 

"It's a dragon thing," Emma says, wondering if Mal has told her stuff about dragons. Her hand rises to her neck, remembering the glamour on it that she placed to hide the mating bite from Henry. She pulls the glamour away a moment later, twisting so Regina can see. Staying still, Emma feels when Regina touches it, tracing the sensitive outline. 

"You...that..." 

Regina presses her thumb against it, obviously feeling the magic. What comes out of her mouth next is not anything Emma expects. 

"I have one, too." 

* * *

When Emma was still a bail-bondswoman, she went all over the country looking for scumbags and cheapskates. Luckily, in the modern age it isn't uncommon to have a job that takes you all over, which was why Emma had multiple phone numbers for multiple people in multiple cities whenever she wanted company – of the social kind or the sexy kind. 

One time when she was in Cincinatti, Emma called a guy she knew called Kyle and as per usual, they hit up a bar and then got a taxi back to his place. The problem was, it had been three years since Emma had met the guy. Three years can change a lot of things and in Emma's head, it was natural, if a little more isolating to a free-bird, always-moving Emma Swan that Kyle had more pictures up and more shit lying around. 

She didn't look at the pictures. Her mistake. She didn't get to look at them on the way out, after being caught with Kyle's hand down her pants by his wife. 

When Regina says, _I have one, too_ , her blood runs cold. All the elation she'd felt from their magic interacting drains away and Emma knows she's ruined this – whatever _this_ is. Maleficent has- _had_ shared something with Regina that Emma has with her, now, a connection that can't be replicated or relived. 

Stepping back, Emma curls her hands into fists at her sides, refusing to hold herself as the guilt rams home. 

"I didn't know, Regina, I'm so sorry." 

"What for?" Regina questions. Emma listens to her voice, still slightly awed and gentle. _She should be furious._  

"I changed time – you and Maleficent, I didn't know, I didn't mean to-" 

"You haven't done anything troubling," Regina replies, a little more cautious now. Emma knows she deserves the anger yet to come and hates that she's drawing out her own murder. _Regina wouldn't want to be strung along for too long,_ she thinks as she tries to find the words. 

"You and Maleficent," Emma says, halting herself, "I changed time. Mal and I, we- now _we-_ " 

"I don't think you were ever in a position to know that Mal and I were more than friends," Regina interrupts wryly, "or you lied, earlier." 

"I didn't lie." 

"Then you didn't change time," Regina says, as if it's that simple. "You said going to Mal is off-limits because of the memory spell you cast and I believe you. I also realise that maybe you aren't as well-versed in magic as you think you might be. Things I take for granted, you don't know." 

"But-" Emma starts, but Regina continues as if she didn't hear her. 

"Even if you _did_ change time, the times I spent with Mal made many of my lonely years as the Evil Queen _not_ so lonely – I don't want that reversed. She's mine...ours, now, I suppose." Regina takes her hands, forcing Emma to uncurl them. "Don't feel guilty, Emma. I can see it written on your face, plain as day." 

"Are you immortal, too?" Emma questions, only slightly hopeful. 

"...I certainly have a prolonged life," Regina replies, exerting caution. "But no, I'm not. Mal told you that you are, because of this... _hybrid_ nonsense?" 

"It's not nonsense when there are documented cases," Emma mumbles, feeling Regina's hands in hers. Her palms are cool and her nails scrape lightly against her skin. Emma can't remember if Regina had them painted or not, if nail polish is flaking off them or not – _though, she would never let them flake. Regina's a perfectionist._  

"It's possible that Mal lied to you, or perhaps twisted the truth," Regina says. "But the gist is correct – you'll live a long time yet, Miss Swan." 

"I'm no Swan, anymore." 

"What are you, then? Emma Dragon?" Regina questions. "I'm sure that'll go down well – Henry will love it." 

Emma rolls her eyes. "I'm just not used to it. Everyone but Mal called me _Princess Leia_. Princesses don't have last names, do they?" 

"They do, but they aren't used," Regina shrugs, dropping Emma's hand as their magic – both Emma's and Regina's – tries snaking towards each other with what limited conscience movement it has. "I was _Regina Sofia Constanza Veronique_ of the Royal House of Xavier, before I became Leopold's queen." 

"Was Xavier your last name?" Emma frowns, knowing King Xavier is her grandfather. 

Regina hesitates, "It's...different, in High Southern. That's just the Northern translation-" 

"Is it like, the Southern version of that Viking stuff with like, 'Odinson' and stuff?" Emma happily interrupts. 

"...sort of," Regina replies, surprised. "More accurately, it's to do with what King I'm most closely blood-related to, but...yes. Like, 'Odinson and stuff'. My uncle, the Crown Prince, was called the Royal Son of Xavier of House Javier. If he had ever become King-" she stops, "well, _if_ he had ever become King, things would be different." 

"Succession-talk not your kind of chit-chat?" 

"My mother most likely arranged multiple murders of my kin," Regina replies flatly. "My father abdicated after I trapped mother in Wonderland and gave the Kingdom to me." 

"What's your name now, then?" Emma prods hesitantly, wanting to know that one last tid-bit – she isn't disappointed. 

"Regina Sofia Constanza Veronique of the Royal House of King Henry the Third," she states, voice proud and cold as she states her titles, "Queen of the Southern and Northern Enchanted Forest, Queen Consort to Maleficent of the White Mountains and Mayor of Storybrooke." 

Emma grins, "Is it really impressive when some guy in a wig shouts it for everyone in a ballroom to hear?" 

"It is," Regina says, with no little amount of pride. "Maleficent's titles are quite funny, though." 

"What are they?" Emma questions eagerly, realising she's being given the chance to get dirt on her partner. Regina breathes in, about to speak, when she pauses for a long few moments. "Regina?" 

"I just realised," she says, " _technically_ , you're still a princess, despite everything. Snow took back about a fifth of the North, before I cast the Curse. Maleficent's titles have changed and I need to find out _your_ titles." 

Emma blinks in surprise, not having realised that was a thing. "I have a proper name, don't I?" She asks slowly, remembering when she was just a kid, wondering what her _real_ parents named her before the Swan's took her in. "A proper name – a long name?" 

"I doubt it," Regina says apologetically. "Northerners aren't as...commemorative, with their names. Snow was named Snow because she was born after the worst summer the Enchanted Forest had ever seen – it was so hot, that year, not even the tallest of the White Mountains lived up to their namesake." 

"That sounds pretty commemorative to me," Emma notes. 

"Not the way we are," Regina says sharply. "Henry is named for my father and Daniel. I couldn't get away with giving him an appropriate name when I adopted him – it was a little too much for the system to handle, _apparently_." 

"Wow," Emma raises her eyebrows at the ugly tone, "okay, commemorative Southern names are the best, don't get snippy." 

"I'm not snippy," Regina grumbles, before reaching up and outwards with her magic, keeping out of Emma's reach as she seemingly prods every vein in the wards around the Vault. "I think I can get us out of here," she says. "There's always a grain of truth..." 

 _To what?_ Emma thinks, feeling Regina disappear in a stranger way from normal, her magic twisting and darkening until Emma can't feel her anymore – just the darkness. When Regina abruptly reappears in front of her, she staggers and it's up to Emma to hold her upright. 

"Dead end?" 

"Far from it," Regina rasps, "Just...exhausting. I'll need all my strength to get us both- get the three of us out." 

"We're opening the cup in here?" Emma locates the trophy-cup, if only to reassure herself it's there, alarmed by her words. 

"Where better to leave her if we have to make a quick exit? I'll open it. You be ready to protect us if she attacks us." Regina pulls out of Emma's grasp, shaking herself out as she summons the trophy-cup to hand. 

"Oh, we're doing _now_ ," Emma scrambles to raise magic to her fingertips, guessing more than seeing Regina's rolling eyes. "Excuse me for thinking you might want to rest." 

"It's not safe to rest here, not for me – you might be ignorant to what is in here, but I am not. Some of these things terrify me." 

"What can terrify the Evil Queen?" Emma questions, before Regina opens the trophy-cup. There's a moment, before definitively _icy_ magic makes its way out of the prison, a person inside it rather than the other way around. Emma feels it form on the ground, Regina stepping back to stand at her elbow as the woman forms, taking off her gloves and immediately sending an icy shard at her former prison, exploding it. "Well, there goes our back-up if she's evil." 

"I'm not evil!" The woman twists and the cold that Emma feels makes her feel more scared than she should, her dragon flame rising up inside her. Smoke pours out of her mouth and nose, embers tickling her throat. "What _are_ you?" 

"A dragon," Regina states sharply. "She's _my_ back-up. Why were you imprisoned in that urn?" 

"I- I don't know," she stutters, "Stay back!" Emma feels the cold again – magic, she realises, reaching out and hissing at the frosty, uncontrolled mess that snipes back. They both hiss and Emma swallows nervously, reaching to take Regina's hand, only having her magic and her ears to tell her what's coming. _I wish I could see, dammit!_  

"What's your name?" Emma questions. 

"Elsa, Queen of Arendelle," she replies, "Who are you?" 

"Arendelle?" Regina questions, sounding surprised. "That's the kingdom north of the White Mountains." 

"You know it?" 

"Yes," Regina says. "I do. A friend of ours lives in the Mountains. I am Queen of the Enchanted Forest – Misthaven." 

"Misthaven...are we there? Are we in Misthaven right now?" Elsa asks, before demanding, "Tell me." 

"Hey," Emma snaps, fire rearing for a fight, "We just got you out of your...cup. We need your help." 

"How could _you_ need my help?" Elsa questions, baffled. "You didn't know who I was, before I told you." 

"It's more complicated than it seems," Regina interrupts, squeezing Emma's hand. "We'd better start explaining...Emma?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Would you start us off?" 

"...sure." Emma grimaces as she realises she's going to have to start from the very beginning, if she wants this to make sense to the foreign queen, the sorceress who will travel forwards in time with them. "Okay. Uh...once upon a time Rumplestiltskin lost his son..." 

* * *

A few feet away, in front of the cabinet her prison-urn had been sitting inside, Elsa is practicing how to control her magic, using some pointers Emma had given her from when she was first learning with Rumple. Regina is sleeping in Emma's lap. Emma had offered, not expecting Regina to take her up on it – though in retrospect, it's probably early morning for Regina's internal body-clock and she hadn't slept or had a nap, not like Emma, who is even further forwards in her day. 

Elsa makes a sound of frustration, sending a blast of ice across the hall to slam against the wall, rattling some nearby objects. "I can't do this!" 

"Yes, you can," Emma says in a low voice, hyper-aware of Regina's head against her thigh, numbing the flesh underneath. She itches to move, yet stays still anyway, not wanting to wake her. "You're like me. It took me a while to understand how to control it, too. When I got proper instruction, it became a hell of a lot easier." 

"I need Anna," Elsa nearly whines, tucking her power away inside her – but not the right way. Emma can feel her contain herself, which isn't how it should be done. Rumple explained it to her last year, when she asked. 

 _Containing magic is never a good_ _idea._ _Your magic is a part of you, but it is also its own force of nature._ He'd said that, chastising her for trying to do it that way. _It is you. Your magic is_ ** _you_** _. But you need to work with it, just like you work with your own body. Direct it, challenge it and you can do anything you want – you just have to work for it._  

 _"_ You need to stop using your sister as a crutch," Emma says, "You're powerful and you need to...take _ownership_ of that. It isn't a curse, it's you. Your magic is _you_." 

"You're a dragon, what do you know?" Elsa asks, defensive. 

Emma rolls her eyes. "It makes it even more relevant. I have dragon magic that is _so_ much harder to control. I still don't really know how to use it, except to transform and breath literal fire. I use my own magic for everything else." 

Elsa comes closer to her, then, kneeling almost absurdly close. Emma forces herself not to lean away, wondering if Elsa feels the same thing she does – almost, but not quite _pain_ at the small distance between their opposing magics. _How Regina thinks we're similar, I don't know._  

"I'm terrified of my magic," Elsa admits under her breath, "I nearly killed Anna, once." 

"You didn't in the end, though, right?" Emma queries. "She's alive?" 

"I hope so – she went to Misthaven, to this... _Enchanted Forest_ , trying to find answers to why our parents left on their secret voyage." 

Emma grimaces. "And meanwhile, you end up trapped in a pot." 

"Urn." 

"I don't know what it is," Emma shrugs. 

"And I don't remember how I ended up in that urn," Elsa says, "I already told you, when you asked earlier." 

"Wait," Emma frowns, "You don't remember?" 

"The last thing I _do_ remember is, is...Prince Hans," Elsa grasps Emma suddenly, hand tight around her arm. _She's got really long fingers,_ Emma thinks, blinking as Elsa speaks in a rush. "He had an army in the mountains, he and his brothers were going to bring war to Arendelle!" 

"War never came to Arendelle that I knew of," Regina mumbles tiredly. Emma automatically tries looking down, but the blackness... _wait._ "Perhaps your sister made it back in time to save your kingdom. You were just lost, maybe." 

"If I was, Anna will be looking for me," Elsa says, sounding hopeful. Emma doesn't listen to her though, too focused on the rapidly de-blurring of her surroundings. She looks around, finding Elsa beside her in what looks like a solid turquoise dress. _Is the potion finally fading?_ Emma thinks, thrilled at the prospect, interrupting Regina as she speaks to Elsa. 

"My sight's returning," she looks at her hand, seeing something small and pale. "I can sort of see." 

"What is 'sort of'?" Regina demands an answer, sitting up and tilting Emma's chin. "Can you see me?" 

"An outline," Emma describes, but her sight has seemingly stopped returning, sticking her in this blurry world she can't even see Regina's features through. The tan of her skin is clear, the bright red of her lipstick is solid...but she can't see lines or even meet Regina's eyes properly. Everything is distorted and it's not right. "Colours. I can't see though." 

When she looks away from Regina's face – which is so supremely close, it's hard to miss – her heart drops, because the Vault is horribly grey and she can only vaguely make out the shape of a wardrobe because it's so different from the walls and columns. 

"I can't see," Emma repeats, throat clogging unexpectedly. Even her eyes sting, because she wants to cry. "I can't see, Regina!" 

"The potion stabilised, probably," Regina says quietly, letting go of Emma's chin. "It might have taken some time, considering how you were probably still adjusting to your new limits. Your magic would have tried to shake it off, too. That's probably why it went on and off all the time." 

Emma gives a sharp, shaken laugh. "On and off, like trying to reset a console? I'm not a TV." 

"The mechanics are the same," Regina says and **_no_** _, she sounds pitying, god, I don't want pity. I did this to myself._ "Stop beating yourself. You and Henry make the same faces, honestly." 

"I always thought he acted like you," Emma mutters, swallowing. "I miss him." 

"We need to get back to him," Regina replies steadily. "I can take us, now that I've rested." 

"Are you sure?" Emma questions, not sure whether she feels relief or not upon seeing the vague blob that is Regina's face nod. "I saw that. A little." 

"You can schedule an appointment at the hospital to check the severity when we get back to Storybrooke," Regina says before standing, offering Emma a hand. "Before we go, do you want to take anything?" 

Emma automatically thinks of the eternity stone, but remembers her plan. _Ask Gold._ She shakes her head. 

"Are you _sure?_ " Regina asks, sceptical. "Not even the cane Mal gave you?" 

"...I'll take that," Emma says, summoning it to hand. The warmth of Maleficent's magic is welcome, but she can feel it has diminished. Finding the dragon-head handle, she presses her thumb against the green jewelled eye, something she can see so brightly despite her poor vision. Emma charges it, letting her magic be sucked in and stored away. Only when she feels the handle get warm does she stop, tucking it into her belt, the handle keeping it from slipping completely through. 

"Are we to take anything else from this Vault?" The prisoner from said Vault questions, brushing off her dress. Emma belatedly copies her, flapping her cloak and grimacing as dust blooms around them at the small wind. 

"We can't risk the timeline," Regina says, "There's no way for us to know if Rumple will use anything in here in the next few years or even in Storybrooke, when he takes his belongings with him." 

"Imagine if we took that amulet," Emma mutters, "the one he used to curse you." 

"He cursed you?" Elsa frowns, "His own daughter?" 

"That's not confirmed-" Emma starts, only for Regina to interrupt her. 

"Yes, his own daughter." 

"You're accepting that?" Emma frowns, her decision weighing on her more than it should. "But what if you aren't?" 

"It doesn't matter, in the end. I'm hardly about to go start calling him _daddy_ ," Regina scoffs, before taking their hands. "Be ready. This may be a rough trip – the wards are even more slippery than Rumple is. I don't think he made them." 

"But you can do it?" Emma licks her lips, "Do you need help?" 

Regina glances at her, "The wards recognise me. They thought I was _him_. I always thought our magic was similar, but I didn't realise how much until I tried, that first time. That's a powerful legacy, Emma, even for the Dark One...this is proof." 

 _This is proof_ , the words echo in Emma's mind, before Regina teleports them through the wards. As they do, Emma feels the magic recognise her friend – but it isn't like they think Regina is Rumplestiltskin, not at all like that. Emma thinks that if she thought Mal's fortress was more sentient than the Dark Castle, then that had nothing on this place. Even as she recognises that fact, the wards _greet_ her, content to let her leave, as a product of their creator's magic is the one taking her. 

When they reappear in the Enchanted Forest, Emma has no time to speak before Regina teleports them the normal way to Cáliz – and then, her nostrils are full of hot air, a menagerie of smells hitting her all at once. Emma twists around and even she can see reds and yellows raging in the darkness, shouts of villagers echoing through the night as buckets of water are drawn from the well. 

"Henry?" Regina calls, gasping in pain, "The tavern is on fire!" 

"No!" Emma exclaims. She puts her hand up, trying to deaden the flames, but even as she tries, she feels Regina's magic – but different, just like the jewellery in the Vault. "Regina- Regina, this was _you_." 

"No, it wasn't, I would never endanger Henry like that!" Regina snarls, "I'm not my mother, trying to get rid of every threat to my throne-" 

"She doesn't mean you," Elsa comes to her defence, voice strong and fearless, for once. "I've got this." Then, Emma watches Elsa raise her arms, turquoise dress the brightest thing in the village. Her magic, what made her so afraid in the Vault, that was so uncontrolled _streams_ from her now, her confidence the key to everything that makes her. 

Snow flowers from her hands, raising up into the sky and falling onto the burning building even as ice races across the courtyard to freeze the foundations. Within one minute, the fires are put out and the villagers are staring at Elsa in a mixture of horror and awe. 

"Is there anyone inside?" Elsa questions and now, Emma can understand how the frightened girl from before could be Queen of a kingdom. _It's kind of impressive, actually,_ Emma thinks, actively wondering why she doesn't feel attracted to her. _She's gorgeous, but I feel as much attraction to her as I do for Henry. Is my bi-fi out of order?_  

"The Queen took them!" Someone shouts. "Just walked out of the building with her Black _Coños_ with them all in chains, even that _niñito_ _._ _La s_ _eñora_ _de la taberna,_ Madelina – she was shouting at them to leave him behind, but the Queen was angry." 

Emma looks to Regina as the person shouts, several other villagers ducking inside the half-ruined building to check for anyone else – _or her gold_ , Emma thinks, feeling a wave of anger at Regina's past self. Waving her hand, she teleports anyone inside the tavern into the square, going over to the building and shutting the door. 

"Emm- _Leia,_ " Regina grits her teeth, "we need to go get them back." 

"We need them to have somewhere to come back to," Emma says, knowing she hasn't got enough time to write out an entire ward scheme, "Madelina worked her ass off for this place." 

"They took Reyda and Viola, too," a nearby villager says. 

Emma nods sharply, focused on them even as Regina hisses her fake name, asking what she's doing. _I can remember the feeling of all the wards,_ she thinks, shutting her eyes and bracing her hands against the iced, wooden beams. Elsa's magic is all over the tavern, now and it's almost an invasion – almost something to make her angry. But Regina was right after all and the similarities to her own magic are startling when she feels it all, used in defence and protection of a place Elsa's never even visited. 

With her magic, Emma circles the property, drawing a more oval than circle perimeter. Then, she imagines the wards as she knows them, ones to restrict all of dark intentions from entering. No thieves or looters would be able to step one foot in the door. She knows it works before the magic spins out of her, because the crowd behind her begins to react in alarm, shouting and whispering in shock. 

When she's done, Emma looks up to see a white bubble of her magical protections, before it fades to reveal the smoky night sky. 

"That was beautiful," Elsa says, sounding star-struck. "Will I be able to do that one day?" 

"Yeah, kid," Emma says before making her way back to the two queens. "What are we going to do? We can't just storm the palace and get everyone out all at once." 

"The only way she could have known to come here is from following my magical signature," Regina mutters. " _Our_ magical signature." 

A flood of guilt rises in Emma as she realises how the Evil Queen might have known to check. "It's my fault," she says, "everything's my fault. When I was distracting her, I told her I was a distraction. She followed you, but it's my fault she knew to in the first place-" 

"It's both our fault," Regina cuts in, distraught. "I know my own capabilities. I should have teleported us around the Enchanted Forest, led her on a chase-" 

"Stop this," Elsa interrupts her, voice steady. _Confidence in crisis,_ Emma recognises. _How long until it fades?_ "It's all in the past. What we do _now_ is more important." 

"Alright," Regina mutters, looking around the town, who are either watching them or leaving. "We need a new base of operations, so we can figure out a new plan." 

"Where can we go?" Emma questions, before reminding her, "Mal's is off-limits." 

"I'm well-aware," Regina states. Emma thinks she's looking at her condescendingly, her voice more a clue than anything visual. Even now, she looks around and the only thing her sight – and in the dead-of-night darkness – allows her to see properly is Elsa's dress. _Really, that is a very,_ ** _very_** _bright_ _dress_ _._  

"We could go to Arendelle," Elsa offers tentatively. 

"Too far. Even going to Mal's would be pushing it, really," Regina says. "I was thinking, just an inn somewhere...somewhere away from here. We can raise some wards and make plans, get some sleep and eat properly. She won't kill them, not yet." 

"What if she kills them at sunrise?" Emma questions, worried. 

"She might kill the adults," Regina admits, "but not Henry and it's him who matters. I- the Evil Queen never killed children, only changed their lives...dramatically. They're all her bait, however. She would want us – or maybe just you." 

"Because I made her angry, right..." Emma swallows, regretting what had been a funny line at the time. She can't even rightly remember what she said, other than that she was a distraction so her friends could break out some prisoners. _I said some awful things, as well, stuff that depressed Prince Henry...he's the only thing Regina of this time has, right now. He's not in_ _Storybrooke_ _, either..._ "What did happen to your dad?" 

"What?" Regina questions, silent for  few seconds before she teleports the three of them away. They appear on the outskirts of some city that bustles with life, just off the main road and when Regina steps back, looking like she's crossing her arms, Emma wishes she could see her face. 

 _Is she defensive? Unhappy?_ The small details escape her and Emma hates her eyes, hates them – herself – with a vengeance, heart panging at both the way she's chipping at her own self-worth and at her thoughts of Regina. 

"I thought you knew," Regina says. "About the Dark Curse – the price you pay for such dark magic. Snow went through it with David, after all. I thought she would have told you." 

Emma blanks completely, blinking once or twice as she tries to remember, "Uh...if they mentioned it, I don't recall. They share a heart now, or something, don't they?" Emma pauses, a stone settling in her gut. "Oh." 

"He said he believed we could be happy, together. He didn't want me to cast the Dark Curse, but he- he _will_ have his heart torn out of his chest, anyway," she says and Emma has no time to wonder about desperation or happiness, because a man is walking through the treeline. She waves her hand, hiding them from sight. 

"Emma-" Regina starts, but Emma puts a finger to her lips, grimacing as the man stops to untie his trousers, intentions clear. They all look away, though Emma notes the sword and uniform before she does. _A guard._ When he finally leaves, Emma removes her finger and notes where the puddle is, to avoid it. 

"I miss running water," she says instead. "Are we going to be troubled for being out this early, dressed like this?" 

"You'll be stared at more than I and if someone asks, we're here for _el festival de la_ _cosecha_ _mascarada_." 

"What is that?" Elsa questions, frowning. "I don't know that language." 

"A harvest festival masquerade," Emma translates, surprised. "It's autumn?" 

"To be more specific, it's the first day of the three day festival marking the beginning of winter," Regina says. "I always made a point to hold a ball in the palace open to the local nobility as well as the upper leagues – especially considering we do this holiday...differently, to other places in the Enchanted Forest." 

"A masquerade sounds perfect, if we want to break in," Elsa says. 

"You're right, it does – could we, Regina?" Emma questions, "If we hide our magic, teach Elsa-" 

"There's not enough time to teach Elsa," Regina interrupts, "However..." Her hands reach outwards and then she's summoning something – something from the Vault. A dark blue blanket appears, embroidered with a rearing centaur in white. "This. If Elsa wears it, her magic would be contained. The Evil Queen wouldn't be able to sense it." 

"I..." Elsa sounds hesitant. Emma feels her magic reach out in a strange form of control, frost forming at her feet briefly, before it melts as Elsa retreats. "I've felt something like that before, that magic...my gloves. My gloves are like those." 

"Well, then," Regina returns the blanket, banishing it without hesitance. "Then we don't have to figure out a way for you to wear it. Gloves on, now." 

"...do I have to?" Elsa queries, Emma putting a hand on her arm in comfort. 

"No. You don't. It can wait, can't it, Regina?" 

"...it can wait, but once we're in the city, you put them on," Regina points at Elsa, using what Emma dubs as her _mom voice._ "No excuses. Emma and I will be hiding our magic, also. None of us will use any, except for touch-ups on our glamours." 

"Touch-ups?" Emma's brow furrows. "But..." She trails off, realising what Regina actually means. Sighing, Emma waves her hands and her familiar guise of Leia disappears, to be replaced with what she remembers of Jennifer Aniston's face from F.R.I.E.N.D.S. With Regina, she takes a moment before replacing Salma Hayek's visage with Jessica Alba's and then, she turns to Elsa, who stares at them with wide eyes. 

"Oh, right, uh," Emma realises they hadn't told her they were in disguise. "You'll see our real faces once I add you to the groupchat – skype?" Emma muses on what to call their little I'm-wearing-a-glamour-and-I-can-see-through-yours trio. "Anyway. I'm going to make you look like a famous person from the Land Without Magic and we're going to come up with a fake name for you. Regina gets one, too." 

"I see," Elsa frowns. "Why can't I go as Queen of Arendelle?" 

"Do you want to explain why you're there?" Regina questions. "Is there a name you'll answer to other than 'Elsa'?" 

"You figure that out for a few seconds," Emma cuts in, twisting to face in Regina's general direction. "What about you? Could you answer to one of your middle names? Wasn't one 'Sofia'?" 

"I'd prefer Veronique," Regina says, before sighing, "though I suppose the point is to stay low. On that note, you need a dress. Only I could ever get away with trousers on formal occasions and that was only because I was basically empress. Any other women in trousers were either warriors or...odd." 

"I only own the dress you're wearing, _Sofia,_ " Emma states, trying to wriggle around it as Regina waves her hand. A moment later, Emma is in a red dress with a corset that _kills_ her ribs, the sleeves coming down to her wrist and the skirt going to the ground, shoulders nearly bare except for the very corner of sleeves. "Ouch!" 

Elsa tries to contain a laugh, but as Regina summons two cloaks for them both – Regina's more a draping cloak than a hood-and-latch type – Emma can see Regina turn to the other queen in preparation. Emma can't help but enjoy the way Elsa yelps sharply as she, too is stuffed in a corset. Her dress, unlike Emma's is a dark blue with equally-as dark feathers lining the edges of her shoulder-less gown. 

"Your things are put away, for now, along with your bag and cane, Emma," Regina states as Elsa curses in another language that sounds as far from Spanish as you could get. "Do you need your cane, tonight?" 

"I'll make do – just keep a hold of my arm, if things get tight. I don't want to get separated from you by accident. Or have an accident," Emma adds. "Are we actually attending the ball, then?" 

"Until we can safely get away," Regina nods. "Elsa, have you a name for yourself? Emma is Leia, as she has been for the time she's been here and I am Sofia." 

"My name is...Freya." 

"Alright, Freya," Emma waves her hand, glamouring her to look like Blake Lively before letting Elsa see their real faces under the glamours. Elsa startles, making a confused noise. 

"What? How?" 

"What's the matter?" Emma frowns. "Have you met us before?" 

"I...no, no, I've..." Elsa trails off, shaking her head. Emma wants to look at Regina then, to share a look of _I don't believe her_ , to see Regina's face mimic her own, but once again, a guard approaches their location, this time muttering to himself. 

"I'm sure I heard something..." 

Emma winces, putting a finger to her lips. They wait the search out in tense silence, waiting until the guard has retreated at a shout from one of his fellows, then walking through the forest, keeping an eye on the road as they make their way towards the city. 

Towards their friends and most importantly: Henry. 

* * *

When he wakes up, there's a moment where he's dreamy and content to lie in bed, but then several someones shuffle through the room quietly with pails of steaming water and a tray of food. Henry forces himself to sit up, rubbing at his eyes as he watches them work. 

Yesterday evening, the Evil Queen had shown up in Madelina's back-room, right where his mother had left – but they thought it _was_ his mother. Henry had frowned, asking why was back so soon and where was Ma – but very, _very_ quickly, the Evil Queen had shown her true colours. Henry knows that now, Madelina, Robin, Marian, Micah, Reyda and Viola – who had come straight over when Reyda went to tell her Micah had been returned – are all imprisoned, trapped and laying in wait. 

 _When_ _my moms_ _get back, they'll think I might be dead,_ he thinks, remembering how the Evil Queen had sparked a fire in the tavern, gripping the bedsheets as he recalls the smell of smoke in his mouth. _Then, they'll come rescue us._  

"Young boy," approaches one of the servant-people, an older man in a black and silver coat, a white cravat around his neck. Henry eyes him carefully, wondering who he is. "The Queen has brought you here for reasons unknown to me, but know that you are safe in these halls. She shows you great kindness by inviting you into the palace like this." 

"I just want my moms," Henry says plaintively, swallowing nervously as he sees the old man blink in surprise. 

"Did Regina steal you from them?" 

"No. Sort of." Henry's stomach aches for food suddenly, as he smells something sweet coming from the table his food had been set down on, but he ignores it: he refuses to eat something he's not seen made or knows is safe. "My moms were away. Madelina was looking after me." 

"Who is this Madelina?" The old man frowns. "And what is your name, child?" 

"I'm..." Henry licks his lips, thinking furiously. _The Evil Queen has to forget all of this, for later._ _My moms_ _will cast a spell or something...if I tell this guy, it won't matter._ "Henry." 

"What a surprise," the old man's frown abates slightly, "my name is Henry, too. I was once King of the Southern Kingdom, before I gave my throne to my daughter." 

"Really?" Henry questions, momentarily distracted by the fact that the man in front of him was a _king_ , before he puts the other pieces together. Henry's eyes widen. "You're Regina's dad." 

Henry's _abuelo_ raises an eyebrow. "It is very disrespectful to call the Queen by her first name." 

"I-" Henry tries to find his words, eyes still wide as his stomach makes a loud noise. Grandpa Henry's lip twitches. 

"Hungry children make silly children. Come, eat and bathe. Some clothes have been acquired for you." Henry gets out of bed slowly, surprised to find his bare feet hitting a warm, stone floor. Grandpa Henry sees his wide eyes and smiles. "My daughter is as loving as she is powerful – none in this castle go cold. Her magic warms this palace." 

"That's really cool," Henry says, seeing his _abuelo_ become confused. "Cool means awesome. It's slang." 

"Slang..." Grandpa Henry repeats, shaking his head in amusement before hurrying Henry along to the breakfast table. On the table there's a tray, laden with bread, meat, porridge, fruit and jams as well as freshly-baked pastries – the origin of the sweetness Henry had smelled before. _I think I'll try some,_ he thinks slowly, _they can't have done anything to them. I don't think the Evil Queen would get up very early to bake, either._  

Internal crisis averted, Henry digs in, offering to his grandfather belatedly. Grandpa Henry politely accepts, nibbling on a piece of bread and butter with a slice of ham. Henry eats in silence, mostly, sneaking peaks at his _abuelo_ every few seconds and after he's full up, Grandpa Henry directs him to the bath, which is still gloriously hot. 

"Awesome," Henry dips his hands in, awed at the casual display of magic. Then he glances around, wondering when everyone was going to leave so he could get undressed. He stands about for a minute, waiting, before Grandpa Henry sighs to himself. 

"Young Henry, while I understand that hot water may not be common wherever you live, it _is_ what you bathe in, if you have the necessary resources. The servants here will help you with whatever you need – soaps, hair styling, treatment of any ill limbs..." 

"I've got hot water," Henry says, kind of freaked out by what he's saying, "I just don't need help to get clean. I'm not a little kid who's going to drown in the bathtub." 

Grandpa Henry raises an eyebrow. "I see. Well, if that's what you want-" he looks to the servants "-you are dismissed." The servants bow and curtsey, leaving immediately. Grandpa Henry waits until they've left to speak again. "They are gone. Now, bathe. I will wait over here." 

Henry watches his _abuelo_ go over to his breakfast table, settling himself down comfortably, facing away from Henry. Henry bites his lip, wondering if he should have a bath at all- 

"You are having a bath, Henry," Grandpa says in a strict voice that reminds Henry too much of his mother to dismiss. It irks him, though and as he strips, he mutters sullenly, just like he does when his moms make him do things. 

"Fine. I'll have the stupid bath." 

"That you will," Grandpa replies, without a hint of doubt. 


	6. Chapter 6

The silver tunic his grandfather provides him is soft, lined with purple velvet, with a v-shaped collar. Henry marvels at the obviously expensive fabrics, wondering at the silly thoughts he'd previously had in years gone by of thinking clothes in the Enchanted Forest would be like cheap dress-up. The trousers are similarly so much more comfy than he thought leather trousers would be like – supple and seemingly delicate enough to rip, but they don't when Henry tugs at them.

"Your other clothes were disposed of," Grandpa Henry says, "though your boots were of high enough quality to be saved."

"Really?" Henry questions, wondering if Emma's magic was that strong for them to not realise his trainers weren't boots. _I get to wear them,_ he thinks, looking around for them and nearly not spotting them, having been searching for dark blue Nikes rather than the dark brown boots that sit at the end of the bed.

"Really," Grandpa Henry confirms, looking out the window as Henry puts them on. It's strange, but he puts them on like they're trainers, even though he can _see_ the trainers themselves, his fingers fuzzy as they move through the magical glamour. "Her Majesty asked you join her at lunch, but until then, I am to entertain you."

"Thank-you," Henry says automatically, Grandpa Henry smiling slightly before leading him from the room. His eyes flicker from wall to wall, glancing out the large glass windows when they pass them, catching sight of a vast forest and tall, looming mountains in the distance. The dark grey stones of the floors and walls are very clean and long carpets stop their boots from clicking on the floor.

"Can you read?" Grandpa Henry asks conversationally as they approach a set of open doors, a pair of guards on either side as they walk through them. Henry has to pause for a moment, eyes widening as he catches sight of the large chandelier that hangs in front of him, candles lit to illuminate the large spiral staircase beneath it. "Young Henry?"

Snapping out of his awe, Henry belatedly nods. "Uh, yeah. I can read."

"In Northern?" Grandpa Henry questions, causing Henry to furrow his brow as he remembers what Madelina had told him about languages in the Enchanted Forest, when he asked.

"I can speak...Common Northern," Henry says slowly, frowning, "and Southern? I don't know which one."

Grandpa Henry raises his eyebrows, looking at young Henry with curiosity. They stand there, in front of the chandelier for a moment, before Grandpa Henry starts speaking in Spanish – just like his mother did when he was little, like how he'd learnt and not how everyone spoke in New York.

" _This is High Southern,_ " he says, " _and it is only slightly different from Low Southern, but there are certain habits and inflections that Low Southern has that are never allowed in High Southern._ "

" _I speak High Southern_ ," Henry grins at his _abuelo_ , feeling elated at hearing such a familiar dialect. He might have had more people to speak Spanish – Southern – to in New York, but it was never the same and there was always that awful moment when the other person made a face and asked where he was from.

" _Excellent,_ " Grandpa Henry says. The two make their way down the staircase, stopping about halfway down to enter a library that impresses Henry just by the sheer volume of books it possesses. He misses the troubled look that passes over his grandfather's face as Henry rushes up to a shelf, skimming the titles and climbing up a convenient ladder just because he can.

"Young Henry," his _abuelo_ starts when Henry pulls a thin book out from the second-highest shelf, pausing as he makes his way down to glance at him, "What kind of family do you come from? Are your mothers noble ladies? Princesses?"

"My mom is a-" Henry starts, before abruptly remembering he's in the future, concealing his wince as he hurries down the ladder. Twisting, he holds his retrieved book in one hand, coming up with a lie on the spot, grinning. "My mom abdicated her throne for love! She fell in love with my Ma and adopted me when they got married."

Grandpa Henry blinks in surprise, before smiling a very familiar smile, tilting his chin, "Oh really? Tell me more."

Henry feels briefly encouraged, but then his grin dims, shoulders drooping as something clicks in his head. There's a reason the smile his _abuelo_ makes is so familiar – it's the way his mom looks when she knows he's lying.

"I can't tell you," he mumbles truthfully.

"...do not lie to me again," Grandpa Henry says after a moment, smile fading. "Why can't you tell me the truth?"

"It's dangerous." Henry says staunchly. "When my mom's rescue me, they'll make sure you and the Evil Queen can't remember me."

"A drastic plan," Grandpa Henry frowns deeply. "Why?"

"Because it's _dangerous_ ," the boy frowns, stomping towards the centre of the library where a circle of chairs sit next to a large desk with ink-pots and quills arranged in the centre. Sitting on a sofa, Henry opens his book, but he can't concentrate on the insides – a book called _Historias del Sur –_ because of how his mind revolves around time travel and memory spells.

 _The Dark Curse made everyone forget, but that part was broken by True Love's kiss. The rest of the Curse that made Storybrooke wasn't, so it must have been the really, really powerful part of the Curse – Mom had to break the Scroll for it to go away. Making them forget me will be easy, right?_ Henry hears his grandfather come up to join him, glancing at him as he sits, getting comfortable beside Henry.

"I'm not telling you anything," he warns.

His _abuelo_ looks at his book, though. "I used to read that to my daughter when she was small. Her mother didn't approve, however. I am thankful it survived my wife's wrath."

Henry takes a second to process that information. "Cora didn't want Regina learning about the South?"

"You're very informal," Grandpa Henry notes, almost reproachful, before he nods and continues their conversation. "But yes, you are correct. I suppose she thought it above what a princess should know, never mind that I was the one telling her. There were many things my wife did not approve of – which is why my daughter would definitely agree on letting you learn."

"I don't know a lot about the South," Henry admits, giving up on any pretence of reading his book. His grandfather reaches over for it and willingly, Henry passes it over, watching him flick through the pages.

" _The Green Dragon and the Hoard of Emeralds,_ " he reads in Southern, sounding almost wistful. "Do you mind if I read it to you?"

"No," Henry says, faintly thinking of a story his mother told him when he was young – about a dragon that used to hide in its hoard and burst out in a shower of gems to eat the poor thieves until the day a sorceress came with a magical puppet decoy for the dragon to munch on while she slew it.

He listens to his grandfather read the tale and as he goes on, Henry realises that it really is the story his mother told him. But like any tale from a book versus a half-recalled bedtime story, there are far more words and far more details. It takes Henry's _abuelo_ an age to reach the end – however, Henry isn't bored, captivated by his grandfather's low voice, perfect for storytelling and he even does different voices for the few characters the book gives words.

" _My mother used to tell me that one, when I was little_ ," Henry says when he finishes, itching to take the book back now, to see if there are more stories his mother told him in there.

" _It was Regina's favourite,_ " Grandpa Henry says, " _She liked to imagine her mother was the sorceress – that she could trick a dragon and live to bring home the fortune to her family. Cora praised her for her imagination. It's one of the few times she surprised me._ "

" _That kind of compliment would inflate her ego,_ " Henry replies, lip twitching – just like Grandpa Henry's does, a moment later, though he looks far more sad than his grandson does.

" _I imagine you are quite right, young boy._ " Grandpa Henry clears his throat, paging through the book again. "Another story?"

"Yes, please," Henry says, shuffling along the couch to sit right beside his _abuelo_ as he reads, already scanning the pages for stories. His grandfather chuckles, shifting so he faces Henry completely, the book upside down to him.

"Patience."

"I am patient," Henry says, even though his mind screams at him to grab the book and read it himself – it would be faster that way. However, he knows that this is his grandfather and this opportunity will never come again. _It's not like Grandpa Gold would read to me. That would just be awkward._

Grandpa Henry smiles at him, so very much like his daughter. "I believe you – would you like to hear _Salbatora and the Cup of Miracles?_ "

"Yes, please."

"Good, because I was going to read that one next," the two share a small laugh, before Grandpa Henry begins to read once more.

* * *

They get through all the book and then half of another, skipping the repeats. When noon rolls around, the two generations of Henrys embroiled in a tale of fearsome ogres plundering the North-West Provinces, a witch walks into the library and hides behind the shelves to watch them. Only when the story reaches its end does she interrupt, slipping over to drape herself over another of the sofas.

"Good afternoon," the Evil Queen greets, watching as her father and Henry look over at the sight of her, young Henry's eyes widening at her inappropriately low dress. "Lunch is prepared."

"Our apologies," his _abuelo_ offers genuinely. "We were distracted."

"Distraction can be forgiven," the Queen says, peering interestedly at the book he holds before looking to young Henry. "I wouldn't have thought fairy-tales to be something that interests young men such as you."

"I...I like stories, all types," Henry stumbles, briefly, before pulling together his courage, briefly distracted by her wide black feather collar that looks like something a fish-vampire would wear. _This is just mom. Just act like this is her._ To be fair, it isn't that hard, even despite the...flattering and fantastical mode of dress. He’s a little disgusted at himself for having to tear his eyes away. "I want to write my own stories one day."

"A budding author," the Queen smiles, "I hope you're talented. It would be a shame if anything from your previous associates...rubbed off on you, so to speak."

Immediately, Henry feels afraid, bravery wilting. He swallows, thinking of Robin, Madelina, Marian and the other two women the Evil Queen had kidnapped along with him.

"Regina," his grandfather admonishes, however, "he's just a boy."

"He mistook me for his mother," the Evil Queen snaps, "He didn't even blink twice. Especially considering that incident yesterday and someone copying my magical signature, somehow, it's obvious that _someone_ is imitating me. That _someone_ is his mother."

"She'll rescue me," Henry says, feeling slightly hollow. "She'll come here."

The Evil Queen looks at him darkly, "Yes. I will have the sorceress who _dared_ steal from me and mimic me. Tell me – who is she, really?"

"My mother," Henry says. "I'm not going to tell you anything else."

The Evil Queen sits up on the sofa, leaning towards him, glaring and it inexplicably _hurts_ , seeing his mother look at him like this.

"You may be a child, but that does not mean there are not ways to take the truth from you without resorting to torture. Who helped your mother? Do you know the _Dark Apprentice?_ "

Genuinely confused for a moment, Henry shakes his head, brow furrowing. "I don't know. My moms just wanted to get Robin and Marian out of-"

"'Moms'?" The Evil Queen cuts in, repeating the word like it's foreign. "You have two mothers?"

 _Oh no,_ Henry thinks, horrified at himself. "No!" He tries to deny, but his mother already has her thinking face on.

"The Dark Apprentice – is she your mother? It would make sense that you wouldn't know her taken title," the Evil Queen muses. "The Dark One's Apprentice-"

 _Wait, is she talking about Mom? Queen-Mom?_ Henry blinks rapidly. _Herself? I don't understand._

"Why did they want to take the thief and his wife?" His mother questions suddenly, frowning. "Are you supporters of Snow?"

"We needed to get Robin back," Henry says, feeling like his hands and tongue are tied. "It was important."

"Not his wife, too?"

"He ran out when he saw her," Henry says, remembering how the man had rushed out, abandoning him and his mom behind that house as he went to save his yet-to-be-dead wife. Henry's heart aches at the pain the archer must have felt- must be _feeling_ , knowing his wife is alive but that he likes Henry's mother, too. A worm squirms in his gut. "He left us."

"Robin Hood was in your party," the Evil Queen says, watching him carefully. "What were you doing there, in that village?"

"We- we were just trying to get home. We were lost," Henry says, struggling to keep himself, suddenly hyper-aware that his mother can see straight through him when he lies and so can his grandfather, apparently. "We were trying to find out where we were. Then you made them line up."

"And caught one of your party," his mother's lip curls, an evil smile appearing briefly. "It was an _accident_."

There's something about the way she says _accident_ that makes Henry wary, because it makes the Evil Queen _happy_ to know their presence was coincidence. Henry looks to his _abuelo_ , but the man seems to be thinking, looking at his mother for, perhaps...confirmation. He seems to get it. _I’m missing something,_ Henry thinks, swallowing deeply.

The Evil Queen sighs happily, before clapping her hands together. A moment later, the three of them are surrounded by purple smoke and then they're sitting in chairs in front of a sumptuous feast. Henry looks at it with wide, scared eyes, not having expected the sudden transportation to what seems to be some kind of dining hall, light pouring in from high windows. There are two different types of bird carcasses, one ham and a lamb leg, surrounded by plates of vegetables, all steaming hot.

"Serve yourself," the Queen says pleasantly, still smiling. Henry looks to his grandfather, who sighs but takes some potatoes as the Queen slices some chicken. "What is your name?"

Henry hesitates, glancing at his grandfather, who pauses and looks at his grandson, sharing a moment of clarity: the Evil Queen would not react well to the son of someone supposedly imitating her having the same name as her father.

"My name is..." Henry clears his throat, "Tom."

His mother looks directly at him, pointing the carving knife at him, voice edged with danger.

"Try again, _mijo_."

"...Henry," his grandfather says, the Evil Queen frowning momentarily, looking at him in question. "His name is Henry, also."

"Oh," the Queen makes a face full of anger and disgust. "I see. Do these women know no bounds?"

"You probably don't want to know my long name, then," Henry mutters, luckily without the Queen hearing exactly what he says.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Henry reaches forwards for some food, using it as a distraction. He stuffs his mouth with green beans and corn, fastidiously ignoring the Queen as she looks at him – he can feel her looking at him, very used to the feeling of his mother watching him, almost forgetting as he pours some gravy onto his chicken.

" _Eat slower, young Henry,_ " his grandfather chastises gently. Henry swallows his admittedly large mouthful apologising.

"Sorry, Grandpa." Almost immediately, Henry freezes, horrified at what just came out his own mouth. "I- I mean, sorry, Mr Henry."

The Queen drops her fork on her plate with a loud clatter. "This is _degrading_. He is not your grandfather. I want to know everything about you and your family, _Henry_ , if that really is your name, sick as it might be." Fury lashes across her face, "How _dare_ you mock my family." She raises her hand and then- and then-

Henry can't breathe. Pressure tightens around his throat and he panics, gasping for breath and finding him unable to draw in air. He scrabbles at his throat with both hands, seeing his grandfather shoot to his feet, calling his mother's name – but Henry is too busy dealing with the fact that _he can't breathe_ and the betrayal that runs through his system.

"Mom-" he chokes out, eyes watering. He tries to suck in breath, but his lungs won't expand and everything _burns_.

Then, abruptly, it stops, right in time with a loud slap. Henry gasps, the air almost too much, everything aching. He looks up, feeling like he's going to burst into tears at any moment and he sees his mother holding her cheek, Grandpa Henry standing over her, furious.

"You went too far," he says in a low voice and if Henry hadn't figured that it was in his defence, he would have been scared. The Evil Queen swallows, hand shaking as she brings it away from her bright red cheek. _He slapped her,_ Henry realises, shocked. He tilts away from them both, nervous at the unfamiliar territory. He's never met anyone who's hit their children, before, he doesn't think.

"You've only done that once before," the Queen says, obviously troubled. "I went too far."

"Young Henry is a child and obviously, there is far more to this matter than we know," Grandpa Henry says, before finally losing some strength to his stance. "I was cowardly, when faced with your mother and what she did to you. I looked away. I will not let you make the same mistakes, not when it comes to children."

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

"It's not me you need to apologise to," he replies quietly, before walking around the table to kneel by Henry's chair. "Are you alright?"

Henry glances at the Evil Queen – his mom who isn't his mom – and swallows roughly, remembering what it was like to be ten and terrified of her, when she wasn't even _scary_. The Evil Queen _now_ looks at him with a degree of regret, but mostly, her gaze is plain and so _...lacking_ in investment _,_ compared to his mother who loves him so much her whole face lights up at the sight of him.

"I want to go home," he says plainly.

"And I want Snow's head on a pike," the Evil Queen replies quietly. "We don't all get what we want." Henry can see the mark on her face and he wants to put frozen peas on it like his mother would whenever he accidentally got bruised. "Who are you?" She asks and Henry doesn't want to lie to her, even if she _is_ the Evil Queen. The Queen might even make _herself_ forget, once she knows.

 _Mom and Ma will understand,_ Henry thinks.

"My name's Henry." He begins, smiling as he realises what he gets to say, just like he said to Emma three years ago when he ran away to Boston and knocked on apartment two-oh-five. "I'm your son."

* * *

"A bit early for the celebration," someone mutters as they sit down at the table in the inn for lunch. Emma glances at them briefly, before rolling her eyes.

"Can never be too early for a party," Emma says, mostly to herself.

Regina snorts, "Try telling that to a party planner."

"But the alternative is being fashionably late and that's how you miss the best bits," Emma argues, before a waiter comes over and Regina orders them all greens, eggs, bread and ale. Once he's gone, Elsa queries Regina.

"How are we supposed to pay for this?"

"The festival celebrates the harvest – there's more than enough perishable food to be consumed."

"In other words," Emma cuts it, questioning, "it's free?"

"Astute as ever," Regina replies and Emma sees the Regina-coloured blob move closer, her hand creeping up Emma's arm from across the table. The contact is a little out of character, but as Regina's voice lowers, Emma realises why the action is necessary. "The Robin from this time is right over there and by the looks of it, he's going to come over here to ask if we want a drink while simultaneously stealing our non-existent purses."

"Oh," Emma reaches to her empty waist, forcing back her instinctual startle at the lack of belt that would otherwise hold her purse and her cane. The lack of bag is also kind of alarming, after she thinks about it for a moment. _The rest of it, we can leave behind. But if Regina doesn’t remember to summon my satchel back, we won’t have the Book again._

"We should ward him away," Elsa suggests quietly, fiddling with the unlit candle in the centre of the table, the sunlight proving the candles unnecessary for the moment. "Just in case."

"How?" Emma queries, Regina's hand curling around her arm underneath her cloak, over her dress. There's a long moment, before Robin's familiar voice invades her ears.

"Hello, ladies. Here for the harvest festival?"

"Yes," Regina says, voice curling into an aloof and annoyed tone, pitched with a realness that Emma can hear. _She's still hurting,_ Emma realises with a start, tensing as his hand brushes her waist. _Robin is right beside us trying to steal my purse and she's **hurt**._

"Does Her Majesty the Evil Queen's kingdom impress you?" Robin questions and it takes a moment for Emma to realise it's directed at her. She tries looking up at him, more out of habit than anything else, but gives up when all she can see is just a blurry block of dark brown and green with a skin-coloured oval for a head. He speaks awkwardly, just as his hand slips off her waist. "Ah. My mistake."

Emma frowns. "I still have an opinion, even if I can't see, you know." Emma feels Regina's thumb stroking her arm gently and it's distracting. "We were actually having a private conversation."

"...my- my apologies, then.” He startles, clearing his throat. “Good afternoon," there's a small rush of air and Emma guesses that maybe he bowed or turned around in a swirl of fabric, or something like that. At the very least, he leaves, his footsteps fading away.

"I don't know what I ever saw in him," Regina says, sounding bitter. Emma shakes her head, uncaring of how her hair falls in front of her face. Regina sighs and then her other hand – the one not resting on her upper arm, still rubbing a circle of numbness into being – comes up and tucks Emma's hair behind her ear. The action confuses Emma.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Certainly not because you're blind," Regina replies, before pausing. "What is so interesting about us, _Freya_ , that you have to stare like that?"

"N-nothing," Elsa stutters and the lie is clear. "Nothing at all."

"Then don't stare," Regina orders, strict. Emma recalls Elsa's strange reaction to their real faces – how she'd _recognised_ them. Knowing that Elsa had been in an urn for an undetermined amount of time doesn't make her thought process any easier to swallow, because there's no normal way for Elsa to have recognised the both of them – Regina maybe, but not Regina and Emma together.

_Unless **she's** a time traveller, we're not finished popping about the time stream yet._

"You didn't answer my question," Emma decides to think on that dilemma later, when they aren't in the same room as a bunch of strangers. “Why are you being so nice?”

“Maybe you’re my rebound,” Regina answers.

“I thought you were together,” Elsa says, questioning. Emma looks over at the dark blue and blonde Elsa-blob, raising her eyebrows.

“Just because we share a son doesn’t make us a couple. R- _Sofia,_ she just got out of a relationship.” Emma gestures to Regina, who finally takes her hand back, crossing her arms on the table. “And I am…not going there with anyone, currently.”

“Right,” Elsa says, sounding unsure.

“We’re not together,” Regina states and Emma, for a brief moment wonders what it would be like if that weren’t true.

* * *

“What?” the Evil Queen exclaims, before laughing. “Oh, tell me your story. How am I supposed to have a son?”

Henry grins, “Time travel! I’m from the future, after you’ve cast the Dark Curse.”

That shuts her up, to be less than poetic about it.

“You adopt me in the Land Without Magic,” he continues, “and lots of stuff happens, including the Curse being broken, but that happened when I was ten. You become a _hero_.”

“I don’t believe you,” the Evil Queen says, but she leans forwards in her seat. “Prove it to me. Tell me something only _I_ would know.”

“My name is Henry Daniel Mills,” Henry states, watching her flinch back as if burned. “I’m named after the two people who you loved most in the world, before me.”

“Before you?” the Evil Queen chuckles darkly, “I sincerely doubt that, even if your story was true, I could love you more.”

“That’s- that’s not what I meant, uh…” Henry bites his lip, “I’m all you have, in the future. The Curse doesn’t bring you happiness- well, it _does_ , but it gets broken in the end. I hated you, for a while. I’m still really sorry about that.”

“Why did you hate her?” Grandpa Henry questions gently. “Did she do something cruel?”

“Don’t entertain his fantasies,” his mother cuts in and Henry freezes, absolutely thrown, vividly remembering that moment when Emma was speaking to her in the office.

_The poor kid can’t even tell the difference between fantasy and reality and it’s only getting worse. It’s **crazy**._

“I’m not crazy!” he stands up, chair screeching across the floor. The Queen and her father look to him sharply as he skirts back, gripping the strange fabric of his clothes, wanting to wear normal flannel and jeans. “Don’t do this again!”

Confusion, panic – the Queen stands cautiously, gripping the edges of the table lightly as she moves closer, watching him with intently.

“Henry,” she murmurs, “Are you alright?”

“No, no, I’m not,” he says honestly, “I just- I _just_ remembered who you are. Less than a week ago, I was living in New York and magic was just a fairytale, something out of a…storybook.”

_That’s it._

“The Book. I can show you the Book, then you’d believe me,” Henry frowns though, knowing he doesn’t have it. _Where did it go? Does Emma have it? The Book just…appeared, though, according to Grandma. I need it right now. It should just…appear to me because I need it, right?_

“What Book?” the Evil Queen asks and Henry shakes himself out of his thoughts, out of that mindset.

“It was what told me about the Dark Curse. It has everyone’s stories in it, like Pinocchio, Red Riding Hood, Snow White and Belle – I liked Belle’s story.” _She and Granddad fall in love, in their chapter._ “If I had it here, I could show you something, to prove I’m telling the truth.”

“I see,” the Evil Queen is closer to him, now, only the chair separating them. Henry looks at her closely before taking a leap of faith, moving around it so they’re inches from touching. The Evil Queen takes a step back, but Henry takes her hand tightly.

“Please believe me. I know it sounds impossible, unbelievable, but you _do_ find happiness one day and I’m glad to be a part of it,” he says, squeezing. The Queen looks at him with such _pain_ , but he can see that spark of hope in her eyes, her trembling lips pulling into a smile. Henry matches her, before looking to his _abuelo_ unwillingly, who’s staring at him in wonder.

“I can see it,” he whispers, ghostlike. “You…you smile the same and earlier, in the library…the Dark Curse is supposed to take you to an inhospitable land. You don’t know the languages here, but you have the same accent as we do when you speak High Southron.”

“It’s called Spanish in the Land Without Magic,” Henry says truthfully, still holding his mother’s hand. “But it’s not all bad – we’ve got TV and Xbox.”

“What is ‘Xbox’?” the Queen questions, brow furrowing.

“Exactly,” Henry replies cheekily, before hugging her tightly. The bodice of her dress is hard and honestly, if he was concentrating on it more, it would have been weird to think about where his head is right now despite his growth spurt – but it’s still his mother. She fits the same and even _smells_ the same, like home. Even the hesitant arms are familiar, from when his mother was doubting herself and trying so hard to be good.

It feels like a victory, when she hugs him back.

“I see why memory potions might need to be involved,” Grandpa Henry says, bringing Henry back to reality as the Evil Queen’s grip tightens. “Time travel is…quite the thing to remember.”

“Memory potions?” the Queen questions, voice dangerous. “Why would I want to forget this?”

Henry pulls away from her at her words, heart thudding as he breaks contact with her. “Because it won’t happen otherwise. My biological mother isn’t even born yet, let alone _me_. If you don’t forget this ever happened, there’ll be a paradox – the timeline will _break_.”

“Why such certainty? Things could happen the same way,” she tries to argue, before Henry shakes his head.

“No, Mom, I know you. You might change in the future, but you’ve not changed _yet_. It’s not even up to me. The future you is coming to get me right now with my other mom and they’ll make you forget this – you won’t have a choice.”

 _Wrong thing to say, kiddo,_ he can almost hear Emma say to him as the expression on the Evil Queen’s face twists into one of fury.

“No-one gets to do anything to me without my permission, not anymore.” She straightens, thunderous. “Not even my future self can decide that for me – let alone, who else? My future wife?” The Evil Queen scoffs, missing Henry’s suddenly wide eyes. “No. _No._ My mind is my own, thank-you.”

 _Future wife?_ Henry suddenly has a Very Big Realisation that _perhaps_ his Henry Swan thoughts about ‘Mayor Mills’ being his ma’s ex-girlfriend had more merit than he’d realised, before he’d slashed them upon remembering. _Oh my god, my mom is hella bi,_ he stares at the Evil Queen, who hadn’t even _flinched_ at calling the woman Henry had only called ‘his other mom’ her _wife._

“Holy shit,” Henry whispers to himself by accident, scandalised at himself a moment later for saying that both in front of his _madre_ and – of course – his _abuelo_ too.

“Language,” his mother snarls, chiding him with still genuinely angry eyes. “I thought I would have taught you better manners in the future.”

“Emma isn’t your wife,” Henry blurts out, before realising he could mix this up without even lying. “She’s not your wife…yet.”

“…I’m not married to your other mother,” the Evil Queen seems rather confused by his manipulation, brought up short almost. Anger draining out of her, she looks at him with a baffled expression. “ _Why?_ She’s your _other mother_. You seem to actively spend time with both of us, from what you’ve said – I’ve never heard of a child being adopted and then spending time with both families.”

“Forty percent of babies are born out of wedlock in America,” Henry says, remembering a piece of trivia his friend Aisha from New York had brought up once, sometime last Easter. “Also, I said you’re not married _yet_.”

 _She’s not going to remember this later,_ he thinks smugly, biting his lip. _I could say anything, so long as I didn’t lie._

“You and my other mom didn’t get on for a while, because of the Dark Curse,” Henry says, leaning in. “She’s the _Saviour._ ”

“The what?” the Queen questions.

“The Saviour,” Henry repeats, unable to help his wide grin, “She breaks the Dark Curse with True Love’s kiss.”

The expression on his mother’s face is solid _gold_ as she replies, interpreting his words exactly the way Henry hopes she would.

“I break my own Curse?”

“Yep!” Henry replies without thinking, pausing a moment later only to darkly realise that it _is_ true: she did make the pastry that killed him, after all. “Yeah. It is. You’ll be glad it breaks though, before the mob comes at least.”

“I can handle a mob.”

“Not without magic,” Henry replies, elation fading somewhat at his realisation. “But that’s not important. I’m sorry you have to forget everything I’m telling you, but it has to happen or…it never will.”

“Henry, I…” the Evil Queen hesitates, “I don’t want to forget anything. I don’t want to have a- a _blank_ spot in my memory. You’re young – you don’t know what it’s like to have everything taken from you. This life I’ve built, it’s all…it’s all about power. Having my _own_ power.”

“Evil feminism,” Henry mutters, before wincing. “Maybe we could reverse it later? Like, have my mom – my mom from the future – take an antidote, if you drank some potion, or reverse the spell if it was a spell.”

“You don’t know much about magic, do you? The kind of magic that would erase my memory would not be easily reversed.”

“But Maleficent is getting hers reversed,” Henry argues, frowning. “Ma said we couldn’t go see her in this time because it was so…delicate, I suppose.”

“Maleficent?” the Queen rears back, “ _Mal?_ Are you very sure? When would she even have the opportunity to erase her memory? Why would Mal _let_ her?”

“Oh, Ma went back in time before this,” Henry says, “to get someone else who went back in time. She wanted to kill you, but Ma stopped her and brought her back to the future…then she kind of escaped and made another portal to the past and Mom, Robin and me, we all followed Ma and Zelena through it to this time.”

The Evil Queen raises a pointed finger. “Repeat what you just said, but elaborate.”

“Uh…Zelena wanted to kill you, so she invented time travel and went back to kill you as a baby, I think,” Henry says slowly. “Ma astral-projected once. You and Grandpa Gold had to translate because you two were the only ones able to see her. She said something and I made you tell me what was so embarrassing later. Ma was there when you were a baby. She saved you from Zelena.”

“The assassin,” Grandpa Henry says, sitting down heavily, looking nonplussed. “The Dark Apprentice is your future wife, Regina.”

 _I still don’t get this Apprentice thing they keep mentioning,_ Henry thinks curiously, _I’ll have to ask Ma when I see her again._

“I figured that one out already, Daddy, don’t need to remind me,” the Evil Queen says, before motioning for Henry to continue.

“Ma got Zelena and brought her back to the future after that,” Henry goes on. “But she got out really quickly and made a portal, which we all jumped through. She used a wand or something-”

“A wand?” the Queen cuts in, silent for a few seconds before she shakes her head. “Of course, it all makes sense now – your other mother distracted me while my future self retrieved the prisoners and perhaps, as well, the wand I confiscated off of one of them. A clever plan. You would have returned to the future with me angry, but none the wiser, if I hadn’t followed my future self’s trail…you would be gone if it weren’t for me.”

“Probably,” Henry says, slightly shamefully. “It’s not your fault.”

“I thought we just agreed it was?” the Queen raises an eyebrow tiredly, shaking her head. “No, this is…this is too much. I don’t even know if I can believe you at all!”

“Why stop believing now?” Henry queries, seeing the desperation laid out all across her face, almost feeling it in his bones – strange as that might sound. He’d been feeling them like that the entire conversation, actually, as if this younger, more fragile version of his mother was projecting them for him to feel. _Maybe it’s magic,_ he thinks.

“ _Mija,_ ” Grandpa Henry starts, “Perhaps you should look for memory potions on your own terms. Surely there is one you could make this afternoon – we could bid young Henry farewell before attending the Harvest Ball.”

“Harvest Ball?” Henry straightens, “There’s going to be a party?”

“Better. A masquerade. Tonight is _el festival de la cosecha mascarada_ ,” his mother says, mouth curling around her mother-tongue so much easier than it does with English. “If I were rescuing you, I would use it as a cover to sneak in and steal you. Poison the punch and the wine.”

“With memory potion,” Henry adds to finish, in case she was being literal. Her grin turns mischievous and he rolls his eyes, but smiles himself. “Could I come? I’ve never been to a masquerade before – my moms wouldn’t take me in the middle of the dance-floor.”

“Are you sure about that? If they saw _me_ dancing with you, they might be daring enough as to switch partners mid-swing,” his mother cackles to herself, “Oh, I _dare_ them to. I could surprise your mother with a kiss.”

“TMI, Mom,” Henry fakes vomiting, trying to shake himself of the image. “Too much information.”

Her hand comes over, ruffling his hair. “Or myself, if she’s that daring in the future. Do I call you anything, in the future? Something just for the both of us?”

“I’m your little prince – _mi principito_ ,” Henry grins, only realising after her face softens that it was a test. “ _Abuelo_ called you _querida princesa_ when you were little.”

“He did,” the Queen glances over at her father, sharing a warm smile with him. “What does your grandfather call you, _principito?_ ”

Henry balks.

“He- Grandpa-” Henry struggles, looking everywhere that isn’t his mother, ashamed. Guilt trickles down his spine as he looks to his feet. “Nothing,” he says, feeling hollow as he lets his mother realise the truth – that his grandfather is long dead in the future.

“…I see,” Grandpa Henry sighs loudly. “Well, you _did_ say that your own mother hasn’t been born yet. To think that you know my daughter when she is as old and grey as me.”

“Daddy!” the Evil Queen exclaims, sounding extremely put-out. Henry snorts, the injection of humour exactly what they needed.

“Actually, the Curse freezes time. I was the only one who grew up, in Storybrooke. Mom looks the same as she does now. The only old people I know are Marco, Granny and Grandpa Gold.”

“Grandpa who, know?” Grandpa Henry raises an eyebrow. “And ‘Granny’?”

“Grandpa Gold and Granny aren’t married,” Henry says hastily, “Everyone calls Granny that. I don’t think anyone knows her real name. Grandpa Gold actually married Belle – she’s younger than Mom and doesn’t like it when I call her Grandma, but it’s funny to look at her face when I do. Gold is Rumplestiltskin’s fake name.”

“ _Rumple?_ ” the Queen stares in horror. “He’s _actually_ your grandfather?”

“He’s my dad’s dad,” Henry says, frowning at her words. “How do you know he’s my grandfather?”

“Because- because…” the Queen looks to Henry’s _abuelo_ , looking extremely distressed. “He’s my biological father. It makes sense.”

 _He’s what, now?_ Henry blinks, before shaking his head. “No he’s not. He’s my grandpa because his son is my dad. Was. _Was_ my dad.” He tugs at his sleeve, “He died last year. Why would you think he was _your_ dad?”

“…nothing. Talk to your mother about it,” the Evil Queen tries to push off the responsibility, but Henry sees right through it, coming up with a genius comeback.

“You _are_ my mother.”

“Talk to the mother that raised you,” she corrects. “I am not talking about that issue. The Dark Apprentice – your _ma_ – was the one to tell me, anyway. They actually know what they’re talking about.”

“Oh,” Henry frowns, “Okay.”

_I’ve got too many mental notes to ask Emma things._

“…so, can I go to the masquerade, then?” he deftly changes the subject. The Evil Queen hums pleasantly, smiling.

“Yes. I do believe you can. Let’s find you a mask, my little prince.” His mother reaches over, carding her fingers through his hair again, parting it at the side before slipping her hand down to his cheek, holding it just like she does in the future, coming down to grin at him, on his level. “And, while we’re at it, a _crown_.”

* * *

They eat their lunch, after, before using the afternoon to go over the last preparations for the masquerade. The Evil Queen teaches him some dances, switching partners so to demonstrate with her father for Henry. At one point, she disappears to deal with some issues with the feast and Grandpa Henry takes him to a seamstress, who uses magic to modify a party outfit for that evening.

“What am I?” he questions as he tries on the blue-green-gold half mask, looking in the mirror. Grandpa Henry grins, motioning for him to look in the mirror. “…woah. That’s so cool.”

“Are you cold, young sir?” the seamstress questions, frowning.

“No, no – I mean it’s awesome,” Henry replies, turning slightly on his podium, shifting his tunic a little. “It’s really good. Thanks.”

“It’s my pleasure,” the seamstress replies, before Grandpa Henry insists he go to his room for a siesta, before the masquerade.

When he wakes from his nap, Henry slips back into his costume, a servant leading him downstairs into an antechamber where the Queen awaits, nails clicking as she taps her fingers over and over again on a fancy wooden box. At the sight of him, she smiles.

“Henry. Do you have a crown, in the Land Without Magic?”

“No,” Henry approaches, looking her up and down. Unlike before, she’s dressed in a sleeveless navy dress with a high collar decorated with lighter blue feathers, black gloves going up past her elbow. Her hair is pinned to the side, falling over her shoulder, a silver crown resting behind a swept side-fringe. Unlike Henry, she doesn’t have her mask on, but it’s clear she’s dressed as some kind of bird.

She turns away from him briefly to open the box and he can see her back, the dress riding low but black and blue drawings of wings clear for all to see and Henry almost swears he see them moving before she turns back around, a circular gold crown in hand. The Queen sweeps forwards, gently depositing it on his head. The weight it unfamiliar, but Henry figures it won’t fall off easily.

“There. A proper prince – if anyone asks, you’re the son of one of my cousins. If they ask you which one, say ‘Amaia’ and leave it at that. Are you ready?” She fusses with his fringe, moving it this way and that before taking his cheek gently.

“I’m good, Mom, really,” Henry encourages, loving how she beams at him. “Where’s your mask?”

“Thank-you for reminding me,” she removes her hand, snapping her fingers. A moment later, a black mask like Henry’s appears, even designed the same – except instead of gold lining, hers is silver and there are only the barest hints of blue rather than paralleling the colourful blue-green gradient of Henry’s. Despite the colour-scheme, however, her lipstick is still bright red. “Oh and don’t be afraid of the peasants that will be attending this evening – just avoid dancing with them. Some aren’t as clean as they’d like to believe.”

“Right,” Henry nods, before taking her offered arm. Through the large set of doors, he can hear the low buzz of music and chatter and his nerves kick into gear as they face them. “Mom?”

“…yes, Henry?”

“Is there going to be a lot of people?”

“Yes, there will be,” she replies patiently, “and they will all look at you when you walk through these doors with me. Would you rather enter in a less obvious fashion with your _abuelo?_ ”

“I…” Henry swallows, shaking his head. “No. I’ll be fine. Everyone stared at me in Storybrooke. I’ll be okay. We just go in and…start dancing?”

“Exactly. We will be introduced just inside the doors as we descend the staircase – I took the liberty of giving the herald a name for you that I approve of, which is most likely similar if not identical to the long name my future self has most _definitely_ given, if only in private. Ready?”

Henry straightens his back, raising his shoulders, nodding sharply. The Evil Queen raises a hand, twisting her wrist. The doors open and the sound increases a hundred-fold, stunning him for a second before his mother drags him forwards. Finding his feet, Henry stares in shock at what could only be a couple hundred people, if not a thousand populating the grand hall. It’s decorated with flowers and orange ribbons, all the candles on the chandeliers lit. There’s a large band to one side, opposing the impossibly long feast table. Guards line the sides of the halls and all the doors, standing in front of pillars like statues as wait staff rush around with canapes and flagons of wine.

“ _Oís, oís, oís!_ Regina Sofia Constanza Veronique of the Royal House of King Henry the Third!” a woman bellows as they enter, “Her Majesty the Queen of the Southern and Northern Enchanted Forest and Her Other Territories, Regent of the White Mountains! And Henry Xavier Daniel Santino of the Royal House of King Xavier the Fourth, His Highness the Prince of the Southern Enchanted Forest!”

 _She got my name right, nearly,_ Henry thinks in surprise as they go down the steps, the ballroom clapping at their arrival, falling silent as the Evil Queen raises her hand, speaking to them in High Southron.

“ _Thank-you all for coming to this Harvest Masquerade. Tonight, we celebrate the end of the season and the beginning of winter. May we all live to see the spring!_ ” She takes an offered goblet of wine, raising it as Henry is offered one. He awkwardly takes it, copying her as the rest of the room does. Everyone drinks and Henry copies them again, struggling not to choke on the bitter, smoky liquid. He hands the goblet back to the server, who disappears immediately. “ _Let us have some music – Prince Henry and I shall open this ball!_ ”

The Queen hands back her goblet to her server, leading Henry out into the centre of the ballroom. Henry panics for a moment at the dead silence, everyone looking at them, before his mother catches his eye, murmuring in Southron again.

“ _Just look at me. Ignore them. The dance will be the opening waltz – the one with the bow at the end._ ”

“ _The one where I have to lift you up?_ ” Henry questions.

“ _Just twirl me,_ ” she suggests, before the music begins and she curtsies, Henry bowing just as low as she’d taught him earlier that day. His left hand joins with her right and his right hand settles on her upper back as she puts her hand on his shoulder. They begin the waltz and Henry is concentrating too much on getting the dance right – on moving his feet correctly in that pattern and swinging them both around – to think about how everyone is watching.

Then, all of a sudden, they aren’t alone. _They joined in_ , Henry thinks in relief, knowing that means the first two verses of the waltz are done and not _everyone_ is watching him, now.

“Enjoying yourself?” the Queen questions.

“Nearly,” Henry says, slipping up on his feet but correcting them a few steps later. “Give it another dance.”

“They’ll repeat every dance twice,” she says, before smiling. “No-one is lifting their partners because of us.”

“Really?” Henry glances around as he twirls her in that next chorus. “Why?”

“No-one upstages the Queen,” she replies. “Even if I changed partners, no-one will lift me unless I ask – it’s an insult to you, otherwise.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Henry says.

“That’s not the point.”

 _What is the point, then?_ Henry wants to ask – but instead, he waits one verse and then, as the chorus comes around again, he lets gravity do most of the work and does the lift.

Luckily, he manages it and doesn’t drop her early and trip her up, like he did when they were practicing.

“ _Silly boy,_ ” the Evil Queen snorts, shaking her head, “ _That could have gone terribly wrong._ ”

“ _It was fun and now other people can dance properly,_ ” Henry argues.

“ _I wasn’t expecting it,_ ” she says, voice slightly warning, eyes flashing from behind her mask, “ _I don’t mind if you do it again, but I **will** be using magic to make sure I don’t fall. Don’t be alarmed._ ”

“ _I won’t,_ ” Henry promises, feeling smug that he managed it at all and that he’ll get to do it again. He’s only thirteen, after all – he’s not _that_ strong. The fact that he managed it at all is awesome!

They keep dancing and Henry forgets he might be rescued tonight at all.

* * *

“So, what are we dressing up as? Robins?” Emma questions dubiously as Regina hands her a mask.

“No,” Regina says, a little scornfully. “Not everyone is themed. Our masks are plain white. They hand them out at the entrance to those without.”

“Shouldn’t we be a bit fancier, then, if we want to get near Henry? If he’s at the ball, the Evil Queen will be all over him or at least watching.”

“Emma’s right,” Elsa chimes in, taking her side. “And won’t those needing masks have less expensive dresses than we? It would be too strange.”

“Well, why don’t you summon your own mask,” Regina replies moodily, but Emma feels her magic reach out, changing the make-up of the masks she’d handed out. “There. They match our dresses.”

“Red?”

“Gold,” Regina corrects, “Elsa gets silver to match her blue.”

“Great,” Emma puts her mask on, using magic to make it stick as well as tying the ribbon behind her head, thinking it useful for once that no-one can actually see what they’re doing when they tie their hair up – at least she knows what she’s doing. “The plan then: go in, get Henry, get out?”

“I think we should split up,” Regina says, as if they hadn’t agreed _hours_ ago that the plan was to rescue Henry and leave immediately.

“Why?” Emma questions.

“We need to get the others,” Regina states, “and if we take Henry, security will sky-rocket. If we get them first, cause a distraction that gets my past self to leave the room, _then_ get Henry, all of us meeting in the inn, our only problem is making sure Henry hasn’t told her anything important.”

Emma thinks it over, seeing the merit to her plan. “Who’s going, then? I can’t exactly be left alone in an unfamiliar place and Elsa hardly knows her way around. Magic can only help so much.”

“If you point Henry out to me, I could retrieve him,” Elsa says tentatively. “If I told him something only you both knew, then he’d trust me to get him out.”

“That could work,” Regina says, before silence falls. Emma crosses her arms, thinking it over before looking in Elsa’s general direction.

“Are you sure you could do it?”

“Yes,” Elsa says, confident. “You go get your friends.”

“I want to see Henry before we do,” Regina says, before sliding her arm through Emma’s. “It will be starting soon – we should head towards the entrance.”

The three of them move, walking along the streets, skirting the crowds in the streets. Music plays and Emma thinks she sees a few dozen blobs moving in some kind of dance – maybe not _everyone_ goes to the fancy masquerade. To be honest, if Emma had a choice, she might have just stayed out in the city – she can smell roadside stalls with meats and vegetables cooking away and the sugary heaven of a confectionary stand as they go past them.

As they approach the palace, there’s a distinct lull, two sorts of music echoing from behind and ahead. People chatter around them, but it’s quiet and Emma can see black blobs on either side of them, lining the staircase to the front doors.

“Guards?” she murmurs to Regina in question.

“Indeed…more than I remember.”

Emma’s gut drops.

The music – more orchestra than street fair – gets louder as they enter, the crowd increasing so that Emma is pressed up against Regina, Elsa behind them keeping a hand on Emma’s cloak so as to not get separated from them.

“I see him,” Regina says, slightly breathless. “He’s dancing with the Evil Queen. I didn’t even know he knew how to waltz.”

“He’s dancing with your future self? How the hell are we supposed to get to him?” Emma finds Elsa behind her, grabbing her hand. “Take us to a corner or something, before we all get sucked onto the dancefloor.”

“Scared of a waltz, Emma?”

“No,” Emma replies shortly, “but we need a proper game-plan. El- _Freya_ can’t exactly go and steal the Evil Queen’s dance partner.”

“…she could if the Queen was stolen first,” Regina says after a moment, Emma getting a foreboding feeling. “I can go get our prisoners. Elsa can abscond with Henry while you distract her.”

“Me?” Emma hisses, before Regina basically drags her around the room. “I’m blind, _Sofia_.”

“Well, _Leia,_ you’ll have to make do. Can you dance, at least?”

Emma listens to the music for a moment, “I think? Is this that one with the kind of box-step thing going on at the chorus?”

“It’s about to finish – I’m not sure whether or not it’s been repeated yet. Elsa, invite Henry to dance once Emma has successfully taken the Queen.” Regina takes her arm from Emma’s, only pausing when Emma grips her hand tightly for a moment. “You’ll be fine,” the witch assures.

“Says you. How will she react to a blind dance partner?”

“If you can dance, then it should be fine – just don’t step on her feet. Where did you learn to dance, anyway?”

“Rumple,” Emma mumbles, before letting go of her hand. “Go.” She reaches out a little with her magic, feeling her leave before tracking down the younger, darker version. Keeping her magic on the downlow, Emma lets Elsa lead her over, switching from hand-holding to using her elbow as a guide.

“Your Majesty, if we might slide in,” Elsa deftly interrupts, Emma holding out her free arm, feeling Regina’s familiar hand slip into hers.

“Who might you be?” the Evil Queen purrs as she draws her in to dance. Emma stumbles briefly before getting her feet, letting the monarch lead her into a waltz she – thankfully – recognises.

“Leia, Your Majesty,” Emma introduces herself, feeling a little nervous as she comes up with a lie on the spot. “I was dared into asking you to dance, to tell you the truth, so I hope I’m not too terrible a partner.”

Thankfully, the Evil Queen seems to be in a good mood, chuckling lowly. “I forgive you. I do have a query, however – why risk it?”

“Risk what? Facing your wrath?” Emma replies.

“No,” they move into the chorus, doing that funny box-step bit before the Queen twirls her. _It’s so strange, knowing this is Regina, even if it’s a past version._ “Why risk coming face to face with me after that disastrous distraction you staged in my garden? This close to you, I can sense that glamour on your face, _Emma._ ”

“How the _hell_ do you know my name?” Emma tries to stop dancing with her, but the Evil Queen holds fast, keeping a tight grip on her as she chuckles.

“Henry, such a dear. He’s a loose-lipped child. He only said your name once, however he said you’re the one to break the Dark Curse in the future, so I paid attention.”

_What the hell, Henry? Rule one of time travel, don’t tell people about the future!_

“Why bring it up?” Emma barks, angry at Henry and at herself for giving him the chance to follow her through that second time portal to the past in the first place.

“What he said was…interesting,” the Evil Queen says, “it gives me hope for the future. I’m no idiot, though – I’m aware I’ll have to forget this all if I want the life he describes. I’d just like the evening, if that pleases you. I’ll take a potion in the morning, make myself think I was so hungover I forgot.”

“Jesus, woman,” Emma mutters, having mixed feelings about the whole endeavour. “Thank-you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. That plan can easily go out the window if you can’t provide proof that he tells the truth,” the Evil Queen states, before the song ends. She doesn’t let Emma move though, standing still until the music begins.

 _Oh, this is the easy one,_ Emma thinks, frowning at the way the Evil Queen slinks closer, arm winding further around her waist. _Rumple didn’t get this close._

“So, tell me Emma, how do we meet?”

“…Henry.” Emma replies, cautious. “It’s better for all of us that you don’t know too much. Henry never should have told you we were time travellers.”

“I like him. It’s hard to believe he’s mine, eventually,” the Queen says, almost wistful as she twirls Emma gently. “He says that my brother is his father.”

 _Brother?_ Emma takes a moment to realise what she means, “Neal. Uh, Baelfire- yeah, he is. He died.”

“Baelfire? I thought he meant Cecil.”

“Cecil? Who the hell is ‘Cecil’?” Emma questions, wondering if Rumple had yet another son no-one’s aware of.

“Cecil de Vil,” Regina replies, sounding troubled. “He’s a teenager, right now. My friend Cruella is his mother.”

“Cruella de Vil has a kid,” Emma says, kind of shocked. “This is news to me.”

“Interesting. I wonder if he dies. A shame – he’s not so annoying as his father. Our father. _Ugh,_ I hate that. Why did you have to tell me that?”

“You’ll forget soon enough, don’t worry.” Emma mutters. “Future-you just found out as well.”

“A strange fate for the both of us.” She says broodingly, falling silent for the rest of the dance. When the music stops, only to repeat again, someone tries to cut in, the Queen scornfully denying them.

“No, Lord Bayon – try again next year.”

“My- my- my apologies, Your Majesty,” Lord Bayon retreats, leaving Emma with the Evil Queen once more.

“That eager to keep dancing with me, eh?” Emma questions wryly.

“Of course. I’ll have to wait several years to see you again, after all,” the Queen says coquettishly, pressing her lips to Emma’s cheek. Emma blushes, biting the inside of her lip as Regina traces a wavy line on her cheek, laughing happily to herself. “Tell me – what is my love life like in the future?”

Emma is taken aback. “Say what, now?”

“My love life,” the Evil Queen repeats. “What is it like? Henry says I’m not married, despite how we broke the Curse with True Love’s kiss.”

“…oh my god, I am going to _kill_ that boy,” Emma hisses, more than embarrassed. Her grip unwillingly tightens around Regina, pressing her closer by accident.

The Evil Queen hums lowly, “Why, may I ask?”

“You’ve interpreted what he said…” Emma trails off, not wanting to offend her, knowing Regina’s delicate sensibilities.

“As what, wrong? Is it true you broke my Curse with True Love’s kiss?”

“Well, yes-”

“And that it was my doing, too?”

Emma’s stomach flip-flops, remembering the poisoned apple pastry, meant for her but ending up in Henry’s hands, in Henry’s mouth and stomach, killing him in that hospital before she woke him. That pastry was made by Regina – it was her fault.

“Yes,” Emma says. “It was.”

“Then I don’t see how I’ve interpreted anything wrong,” the Evil Queen says and Emma can’t make the words come out her mouth that are equivalent to _we aren’t a couple._ “Your friend has absconded with Henry, I notice.”

 _Great,_ Emma thinks, glad to have that burden off her shoulders. “Good.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” the upset in her voice is minor – almost petulant. For once, Emma is glad she can genuinely say that Regina isn’t his mother. The Evil Queen isn’t that person yet and unlike if the future Regina said that, Emma can take that without guilt.

“Sorry,” Emma says, before letting herself be twirled again. “Regina, is there anyone else who needs to forget Henry was here?”

“I already had a cover for him, regarding the servants and staff. My father is not going to forget.”

“He has to, Regina,” Emma says. “It’s not up for debate.”

“Daddy’s sworn a vow of secrecy on the subject – this is his only chance to know his grandson, Emma,” the Queen says desperately. “Please. Henry doesn’t know him. My father deserves this.”

“I’m sorry, but it can’t be done,” Emma replies. “Too many people remember _me_ as it is. I’ve influenced events by being part of them, trying to keep the canon timeline as intact as possible by faking an identity and living that identity. Henry has done the opposite – he’s been himself and he’s told people the future.”

“What’s the difference? You don’t know who Cecil is – obviously, you created a person,” the Evil Queen argues.

“Yes and that was a mistake,” Emma cringes. “No offence to this Cecil guy. Who even names their kid _Cecil?_ That’s a different kind of cruel.” She shakes her head. “The difference is that knowing the future isn’t a self-fulfilling prophecy when it never happened that way originally – you’re more likely to change things. Your dad might take a vow of silence, but everything he thinks influences his actions. I’ve had a lot of time to think on this, so just…trust me. What if he encouraged you to cast the Dark Curse too early? I’m born literally something like a couple of minutes before it tears up my parents from their lives.”

“How do you grow up, then, if it stops time?”

“I get sent away to the Land Without Magic a different way. Shit happened – my parents knew the Curse was coming. Did Henry tell you who they were?”

“No.”

 _Oh great. I am definitely not telling her, then._ Emma licks her lips, the music for the dance finishing. Unlike the last time, it doesn’t start up with a new song or repeat. _Maybe there’s a break or something._

“So…Henry’s not here, then?” Emma changes the topic, knowing she should go now. “Is there a dark-haired woman in a mask like mine around? Red dress?”

“I don’t believe so…no,” the Evil Queen says slowly. “Why? Who is she?”

“You,” Emma admits, hoping Elsa has Henry out of the palace – and that Regina has Robin, Marian, Madelina and the girls out of prison. Standing still, hand on the Queen’s shoulder and the other locked in her lowered hand, Emma wonders again what it would be like if they were a couple. _Obviously Henry has no qualms against it if he’s playing a prank on his mom. To be honest, the Evil Queen doesn’t seem that unhappy either._

“Sorry about the glamour,” Emma says abruptly, feeling unusually guilty about using it. _She could be checking me out right now and I wouldn’t have a clue – except she’d be looking at the wrong face, if she were._ “It was a precaution.”

“I don’t mind, dear. It makes everything…exciting. Intriguing. I won’t know who you are when we first meet properly, for the first time.”

“You _are_ going to take memory potions, right?” Emma questions, worried.

“I swear it.” She sounds serious, at least – Emma will check anyway, but it’s the thought that counts. Emma tries to imagine her face, or remember it, rather. For some reason, Emma can only remember what Regina looks like when she’s sad. “What’s on your mind, Lady Emma?”

“Princess,” Emma corrects.

“Princess Emma…hmm, at least I have good taste. Who are your parents, I wonder? You seemed pretty eager to avoid that question.”

“You don’t know them,” Emma jokes, knowing this is one thing that the Evil Queen is _not_ finding out from her. She sighs, extricating herself from the Queen’s grasp and curtseying. “Your Majesty.”

“Your Highness,” the Evil Queen replies, “Do you bid me adieu?”

“I do,” Emma says, “Do us a favour and don’t follow up on the break-out?”

“I’ll assign a plebeian investigator,” she drawls. “Have a lovely evening, Princess Emma.”

“Likewise.”

* * *

“Do you believe you made the right decision?” Henry questions his daughter, watching as Regina fumble with the vial of memory potion. “Letting them go?”

“If they were telling the truth, then it’s for a good reason. If they weren’t, then…then they took my prisoners and a magical artefact that I don’t even know how to use,” she says, waving her hand. Another vial – empty – appears in her grasp. She delicately pours half of the potion into it, holding it out to him. Henry feels his stomach drop.

“Really?”

“Emma was right about one thing, Daddy,” Regina says, voice full of regret. “We all have to forget and that is…non-negotiable. I’m sorry.”

 _I will lose more than you,_ he thinks, for a moment jealous of the life his daughter is going to live without him at her shoulder. He wonders how he dies – what his grandsons name would have been if he lived.

But he takes the vial and silently, the two take the memory potion, forgetting Henry Daniel Mills forever.


	7. Chapter 7

Using the Black Fairy’s wand as a means to check the timeline seems both frivolous and responsible, but Emma mainly feels relief, knowing that a) the Evil Queen and her father don’t remember them and b) all they have to do now is retrieve Zelena.

“Good luck in your future, _chica_ ,” Madelina kisses both of Regina’s cheeks before wrapping her in a tight hug. Regina welcomes it, sinking into her embrace. “I’m sorry I never knew you.”

“Aren’t we both, _Tía Madelina_ ,” Regina murmurs, before they part. “If you live through the Dark Curse – if we’ve changed time enough that you live in Storybrooke in the future – find us after the Lost Year.”

“After the Lost Year,” Madelina repeats, looking to Viola and Reyda, grasping Reyda’s hand tightly. “We’ll remember. Farewell, _querida._ ”

“Bye, Madelina,” Emma says, offering another small wave, already having said her own goodbyes. The group watch the trio of women go inside the tavern, back door shutting behind them with nary a creak. Once silence falls, Emma gives Regina a moment to put her thoughts together, even though her own heart is crushing itself in her chest, that familiar loss filling up inside her.

Emma has done this before – made bonds with people quickly, before having to say goodbye to them forever. She’s done it in foster-homes, mostly, in places she wanted to stay. The problem is, Emma thought she’d remember how to deal with it when she did have to say goodbye, when she made the mistake of letting it happen – but she doesn’t. Maybe there never was a way – maybe a young Emma blocked out the most painful parts of actually turning away willingly, after all the goodbyes and closed doors.

Emma can’t even remember the last time before Storybrooke that she actually _talked_ to about her woes and worries. _Lily, maybe,_ Emma thinks. Madelina was her guide and a constant in the past that Emma has relied on to help them all. Knowing that there is only the barest chance she’ll be in Storybrooke later is a hope Emma doesn’t let herself believe in.

_What are the chances?_

“Alright then,” Robin says, tentative. Emma looks in his direction – forcing herself not to make a face at the white and pinky-red blur beside him. “To Storybrooke, once more?”

“We have a few pit-stops, first,” Emma says frostily. Henry reaches for her hand, clutching it tightly. Emma relaxes a fraction, squeezing back. “Regina and I saw our future selves pick up Zelena, which is why she’s not here.”

“Emma,” Regina mutters, catching her attention, “Elsa.”

“What about me?” said ice queen questions. Emma, for a moment, can’t think of a reason that Regina might want to bring her up – but then Emma remembers who came through that paradoxical portal in the first place.

“…shit.” Emma licks her lips, “Right. Because somehow, Elsa gets knocked unconscious.”

Regina huffs, “Very tactful of you, Miss- _Emma._ ” She corrects herself and Emma briefly finds herself happily content, because Regina _listened_ to her, even if Emma didn’t know what she was thinking at the time. _I’ve not been Emma Swan in a year and a half. Honestly, it wouldn’t be hard to be called Leia, either, at this point._

“There we go,” comes an unexpected voice and Emma whips around at the ensuing giggle, feeling familiar magic lash out from a shadowed figure leaning up against the side of the bakery. Elsa, Marian, Robin and Henry all drop to the ground in a dead slumber, Emma clutching at her son so he doesn’t bang his head on the cobbles. Rumplestiltskin pushes off the wall, stepping forwards. “Now, dearie, that was quite rude of you, exiting my Vault. How did you do it? Tell me and I won’t end your pitiful lives.”

“I- we-” Emma fumbles for an answer, before remembering she still has her glamour on and so does Regina. “Wait, what?” _How does he know who we are?_

Rumple gently toes Henry’s still form, Regina snarling at him, “Get away from him!”

“Feisty,” he comments, pointing at her where she crouches by Elsa’s downed form, “Unnecessarily feisty. I just want answers and my property back. I’m not hard to please.”

“We have no idea who you are,” Emma refuses to acknowledge what he says. Rumple gives her the stink-eye.

“You might want to check your magic, dearie – it’s a beacon if you know how to see it.”

Emma follows his advice before he finishes speaking, immediately trying and failing to tamp down the ever-growing dragonfire inside of her. Her magic isn’t powerful enough, though, not by far. Rumple’s lip twitches.

“So young and naïve. Are you ready to talk terms with me, then?”

* * *

“They’re fine, just asleep,” Regina grumbles to her as she fusses with Henry’s tunic, brushing his fringe to the side. “Zelena is under a more powerful version.”

“Great,” Emma says, despite the situation being decidedly _not_ great. Propped up on the sofa, their four unconscious compatriots are dead to the world and vulnerable as hell. _We can’t protect all of them,_ Emma thinks, even though she knows that the one that both of them would choose was Henry, if it came down to it.

The familiar sounds of Rumple spinning away catch Emma’s attention and she looks in the direction of the noise, seeing a blurry shape in the moonlight, the curtains open – a strange sight in the Dark Castle. Wandering over, Emma summons her usual chair, sitting back with her legs curled up underneath her, recalling how they’d sit like this while she studied from books, asking him questions whenever she got confused as he spun straw to gold.

He pauses at her actions, “What are you doing?”

“Waiting,” Emma replies, playing with the cuff of her shirt, thankfully back in her normal Enchanted Forest outfit, cape included, if untied. Dresses with corsets are not fun, even if you – supposedly – look gorgeous. “I didn’t know the cane would explode.”

“In hindsight, that was obvious,” he replies, “however I was quite…angered, by the reaction.”

Emma snorts, “I handed you a grenade.”

“What’s a grenade?”

“…you’ll find out,” Emma says after a moments thought. “You were eavesdropping, before.”

“I was indeed,” he says, sounding gleeful and then scolding, “Time travel doesn’t exist.”

“You’re going to wish it didn’t,” Regina says darkly, joining the conversation. “Unfortunately, my sister is quite the inventor. The cuff is for her. Your future self can have it back, provided he takes the witch with it.”

Rumple tuts, “Regina, Regina, Regina…whenever did I say I wanted the cuff back? Also, why the glamours, still? There’s no point to them, now!”

Emma frowns, but waves her hand, reminded that they have to go back to their other glamours if they want to fulfil the time…thing, later. “You said you wanted your property back.”

“And I do.” Rumple says, “There are few ways you can leave the Vault when the Vault actively allows it. The only way I could think of was if you both stole something that I or one of my predecessors created – the magical signature would have been correct, as far as the Vault was concerned.”

Emma’s frown deepens, remembering the feeling of what had been basically a living entity. The Vault had let them out because of Regina, in truth – because, no matter how much Emma now wants to deny what she uncovered, Regina is the daughter of Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One.

How they were going to explain that to Rumple without him going bananas is another matter entirely.

“ _That_ is what I want back,” Rumple continues, oblivious to the truth of the matter.

“If we could prove we were time travellers and it was in your best interests to let us return to the future without an answer, would you let us?” Regina tries, Emma wincing at her demanding tone. Rumple, predictably, lets out a giggle, pointing at her.

“ _If_ being the key word, dearie. I’d have to forget, if it were true and then where would we be? I know you, dearie – you would wait until the latest moment possible to return my memories, if you ever did.”

Regina growls, tapping Emma’s arm. “What about the Book?”

Emma, who had been given her satchel back with her costume-change, is careful not to move her hand even simply in its direction, knowing Rumple’s curiosity could backfire on them later if he knew she had a mysterious item on her. Unfortunately, she has to let Regina down at this point.

“It won’t work – stories up to the present time are erased,” Emma explains. “It’s how I kept track of, uh…people, the last time.” _More like how I kept track of Cora’s sex-life, ugh._

“Last time?” Rumple queries, but they ignore him.

Regina’s hand comes to rest on her shoulder, physical contact where they can’t have eye-contact. Emma doesn’t know what’s right to do or what’s wrong – she has no other blind person to learn social norms from. This seems pretty straight-forwards though. _It’s a nice progression in our relationship_ , Emma thinks genially, recalling how Mal would drape herself all over Emma whenever she got the chance, forget being blind or sighted. _Slow-burn relationship with Regina, pop-bang relationship with Maleficent._

It takes Emma a moment to remember she’s not actually romantically involved with Regina, however and as soon as she does, her mood drops.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Rumple starts after a long moment, stopping his spinning, the wheel slowing to a whistling halt almost instantly. Emma feels his magic summon an item and only Regina’s hiss of anger lets her know it’s not benign. She reaches out with her magic, wanting to see what it’s made like – if it’s dark, evil, etcetera.

Emma doesn’t expect to activate the thing.

“Why in the world would you do that?” Rumple exclaims, dropping the thing before popping out of the room completely.

“Emma, you imbecile!” Regina grabs her, pulling her up out of the chair, dragging her across the room. “You just activated a magical container.”

“A what?”

Emma stumbles over her own feet before Regina hauls her up, grabbing her shoulders and practically spitting in her face.

“It sucks the magic out of a person and stores it. Rumple probably wanted your light magic for whatever nefarious purposes he has planned.”

As Regina speaks, Emma can feel it – something trying to snag at her magic, trying to pull and tug.

“How do we turn it off?” Emma questions.

“We _don’t_ ,” Regina snaps. “It has to take someone’s magic- _Emma!_ ” Her voice changes, her grip on Emma’s shoulders changing as the tugging on Emma’s magic stops.

“Shit, you-” Emma does the only thing she can think of, reaching out with her magic and swarming Regina, protecting her from the pull of the device. Like the last time their magic connected, it’s uplifting and joyful – their magics _sing_.

But unlike last time, this isn’t careful or gentle. Their magics are smashing together like waves and Emma loses track of who is who for a long, long moment, the thin bond that had formed before, that had faded to almost nothing in the time since, surging and heaving. Emma hisses in pain as her wrist stings, then _burns_.

“What- what the _hell?_ ” Regina chokes, before Emma extricates herself, belatedly noticing the device shift its attention to something further away. “What did you just do?”

“I don’t know,” Emma says, feeling the bond between them like a chasm. It would be so _easy_ to fall into and feel that ecstasy of their magics combining. “Is it taking your magic?”

“…no,” Regina replies thickly, hands retreating then aborting the movement, instead gripping at the fabric of her cloak. “You?”

“No,” Emma says and there’s a moment of silence before Emma has a horrible, awful realisation: they aren’t the only magic users in the room.

Then – an epiphany.

“Zelena,” she breathes the Wicked Witch of the West’s true name like it’s the most important thing in the world – _it_ is _, it is, it is_ – before shucking off Regina’s hands and sprinting over to the sofa, finding Elsa and for a moment fumbling, before she hauls the queen up into her arms. Emma feels the device sucking at her magic, Emma’s dragonfire happily warming Elsa, her weakening ice-magic quickly fading.

“Oh my god,” Regina says, before whipping out the Black Fairy’s wand and creating a portal, cuff summoned to hand. Emma breathes in sharply and doesn’t hesitate before jumping through, holding onto Elsa tightly, hoping to whatever gods exist that this works.

They’re chucked out of the portal, landing on the wolf-skin rug by Emma’s bed in the Dark Castle.

Emma loses Elsa as she tumbles, grunting as she bangs her hip. _That’s going to bruise_ , she thinks, seeing the blur that is her younger self and wishing, just once, she could see her past self before remembering her young self has a glamour on, too. _What the hell do I look like in real life?_

“What?” Past Emma exclaims in confusion.

Regina gets up, hauling Elsa up from where Emma let her fall, tugging her arm over her shoulder to keep her upright. The witch slips Emma the cuff and Emma thinks, _this is all Zelena’s fault, we wouldn’t be here if not for her –_ as Regina speaks to their younger selves.

“We’re creating a fixed point.” Regina says as Emma finds Zelena by touch – by memory – and puts the cuff on Zelena’s wrist before pulling her into a fireman’s carry. Just as she thought it would be, it is uncomfortable and Emma’s muscles burn at her unjustly lanky and heavy body.

 _I need to work out more,_ she thinks to herself as Regina says they’re returning for the others.

“We understand,” Past Regina says.

Wordlessly, Emma turns, watching Regina create another portal. They more fall than jump through it, the weight of their unconscious burdens keeping them from moving too much. Emma thinks of what they’ll be going into when they get back, ignoring the bond between herself and Regina that is so strong and elastic, staying the same strength no matter how far apart they are – which is proven when they fall back into the right time period, Regina taking Elsa over to the sofa again, walking away from her. Emma pushes off the tugging at her magic from the device, feeling Regina do the same before protecting Elsa from the effects.

Emma shivers, the _echo_ of Regina’s actions disturbing her more than it should.

Then, the magic in Zelena – green and vibrant, nasty, _biting_ – begins to drain. Emma wants to be happy about it, but it feels like a violation. A big, horrible violation. _If this was done to me…_

The worst part, Emma thinks, is that Zelena’s going to wake up and maybe, she’ll feel it. Maybe she won’t. Emma won’t know- _Zelena_ won’t know until she either is awake or when she tries to use magic. Hesitantly, Emma reaches down to take off the cuff and chucks it off to the side, feeling a tiny, almost insignificant rush of power after the cuff is removed, before it’s sucked away in a vortex.

**_Click._ **

“It’s done,” Regina says, sounding like she’s going to throw up. _Glad to see I’m not the only one feeling shitty._

“What the hell did we just do?” Emma mutters.

“You took away another witch’s magic,” Rumple says as he appears, voice low and lacking inflection. He picks up the container of magic – brimming with power now, able to be sensed from across the room. “Not _exactly_ what I had in mind. But I recognise this magic, just like I recognise the lovely Queen’s. My most powerful student…though, not the _best_. A shame. I believe you, now – those portals were quite strange.”

“Will you take-”

“A forgetting potion? Of course, dearie,” Rumple answers Emma’s unfinished question. “But now, it is time for you to return to the future. Permanently. _Do_ destroy any other methods of time-travelling, now, won’t you?”

Emma doesn’t even have to reach with her magic to feel the Black Fairy’s wand, still held in Regina’s hand as it is, her magic curling up around it like a vice, keeping the little personality it possesses under better control than Emma ever did.

 _I’ll snap it,_ she thinks, making that promise to herself.

“Deal,” Emma replies.

“Good. Now – off with you.”

* * *

The air is different in Storybrooke.

In the Enchanted Forest, there was magic everywhere and obviously, there was a lack of modern technology. There was a feeling of _life_ and greenery, trees and antiquated perfumes. Emma isn’t ashamed to think that she prefers the contrasting barrenness of Storybrooke – where the magic doesn’t seep into the ground and permeates the air instead, like streetlight in the dark and everything smells of concrete, food and gas from where someone’s car has leaked on the ground.

“Home sweet home,” Emma murmurs. “Where are we, Regina?”

“Mifflin Street,” Regina replies lowly. “I thought it may have been a better idea to settle our newest residents somewhat before introducing them to the rest of the populace.”

“Cool,” Emma says before reaching out with her magic, feeling along the wards Regina has set up around her home. It surprises her that she recognises the after-image of stronger protections, before she realises that it’s not that – it’s Regina’s back-ups, deactivated but there, ready for their caster to raise.

 _I shouldn’t be able to feel those,_ Emma thinks uncomfortably, before focusing more on her surroundings. Henry is by her side so she grasps his arm, removing all their glamours completely as she does.

“Mom?”

“Unfamiliar territory,” Emma tries to say jokingly, but it comes out awkward as hell. Henry though grabs her arm, eager to help.

“I won’t let you run into things,” he claims in a serious voice. “Promise.”

“Thanks, kid.”

Regina clears her throat. “Emma, Henry, would you lead Elsa inside? I’ll be taking Robin and Marian to the Merry Men’s camp.”

“Sure,” Emma says, before making an aborted movement to help Elsa – who, once again, is in that bright turquoise dress – carry Zelena, the witch visibly sagging off Elsa’s shoulder as Regina extricates herself. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Elsa says, before readjusting, Zelena snoring softly as her head flops. “Let us go inside.”

“Okay,” Emma and Henry start walking down the path, Henry warning her when they reach the porch steps. Everything is skewed in Emma’s head – distances are shorter or longer than she recalls, but thankfully, Henry is there to help. They successfully make it to the living room, with the exception of when Emma’s shoulder bumped into the doorframe as they entered the house. Meanwhile, Elsa basically lets Zelena collapse onto one of Regina’s pristine couches.

“…this dwelling is strange,” Elsa says after a long moment.

“It’s fancy,” Emma snarks, before bumping Henry, “Give her a tour, kiddo – then come grab me so we can raid your mom’s wardrobe. We don’t know how long Elsa’s going to be with us.”

“Okay, Ma – so this is our living room. That’s a TV and my Xbox…”

Emma finds her way to a sofa, sitting down gingerly. Her hands brush over cushions and pillows and it’s so strange to come back to the familiar after over a year of medieval life, basically. It makes her long for the familiarity of her parents loft, for ovens and bathrooms.

Very suddenly, Emma has a moment of clarity.

“Oh my god, there’s running water,” Emma says, wondering at the fact. She can have a _shower_ and use actual toilet paper. No more leaves. She’s tempted to find one of Regina’s bathrooms…

A yelp catches her attention, Zelena waking from the sleeping curse.

“Where the hell am I?” Emma reaches out with her magic, finding Zelena sitting up on the sofa. “Swan? What…where is my magic? Where the _hell_ is my magic? What did you do to me?”

“Your magic is contained,” Emma replies, uneasy.

“Not inside me, it’s not – it’s _gone_ ,” Zelena stands and Emma reacts, freezing her feet in place. “How is this _good_ and _fair_ , taking it away from me? My magic is a _part_ of me.”

“It was an accident,” the Saviour mutters guiltily. “There was this… _thing_ and it was going to take Elsa’s magic and you needed to be brought down a level, anyway.”

“But my _magic_ ,” she moans, sounding broken. Emma unfreezes her, feeling the witch bonelessly sit back down on the sofa, the springs creaking gently. Her magic feels strangely shaky and pulling it back into herself, Emma understands why.

 _I really need to learn how to use this dragon magic,_ she thinks uncomfortably, her dragonfire flaring positively in her chest before resuming its suffocation of her normal magic. _Are you jealous?_ Emma jokingly asks it, not expecting yet another positive flare, recoiling almost at the power inside her – she hadn’t realised it was so apart from her, individual enough to form its own opinions.

“Swan?” Zelena starts, sounding helpless, “What are you going to do with me? I can’t protect myself without magic – I’ll be left to Rumple’s murderous schemes again.”

“I’ll sort that out,” Emma stirs to attention, recalling Zelena’s tale. “You’ll have to file a report with the station. I’ll manage the part of the inquiry that doesn’t involve normal law enforcement – I know what Rumple’s like.”

“And you would,” Zelena mutters, jealousy obvious. “He killed me. He should be locked up.”

“I don’t know how to class it as anything other than attempted murder,” Emma says apologetically, tired, “seeing as it didn’t exactly stick.”

Then, the dreaded question: “What happened to your eyes?”

“Potions accident.” Emma says shortly, “Can’t be reversed.”

“So…you’re blind? _Actually_ blind?” Zelena barks in laughter, “Well done, Saviour. How are you supposed to do any saving without your sight?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Emma replies brusquely, snapping her fingers more for effect than anything else as she reaches out with her magic to bind Zelena to the sofa – she wouldn’t be able to move anywhere without touching it. Standing up, Emma tries to remember the layout of Regina’s home, recalling the downstairs bathroom between the kitchen and the entrance.

_It’s got a shower. Running water, here I come._

Teleporting inside, Emma finds a nearby surface to steady herself, finding the door with minor difficulty to lock it, orienting herself and then promptly turning on the tap by accident, hand knocking the faucet. She turns it off after a moment, then revels in the pure silence. No birds, no far-off chatter and no wind whistling through castle corridors.

Just _silence_.

Then-

“I’m not going to be able to tell the bottles apart,” Emma says to herself mournfully, remembering the existence of shampoo and conditioner. Sighing, she finds the shower and turns it on, then gets ready to scrub off the dirt and grime of however long she’s been without a bath.

* * *

What greets Regina in the Merry Men’s camp is pain, pain and – oh look, _more pain._ It starts when Little John welcomes them both back, then sets eyes on Marian, coming up short. Then, her name is bellowed throughout the clearing and the Merry Men are so happy to see her.

“Time travel,” Robin states, when asked how he found her again. Regina prepares to leave, happy to teleport back to number 108 rather than walk all the way, but her eyes lock with those of a man tied to a tree, hands tied up and away from the other. He eyes her curiously and Regina glances back at Robin and Marian before purposefully drifting over.

“Why are you tied up?” she questions.

The man shrugs. “Oh, nothing, just a petty little rivalry. Heard Robin was away and made the mistake of thinking his men were out looking.”

“He was time travelling, not missing,” Regina says, voice terse. “What kind of rivalry gets you tied up?”

“Probably one better than yours and Marian’s, sweet-heart,” he says, looking pointedly behind her, which is when Regina hears the tail-end of a sentence.

“-the one to lock me up!” Marian says, Regina twisting to find the woman pointing at her, fearful.

“Marian,” Robin forcibly lowers her arm, “we’ve talked about this, Regina has _changed_.”

“She’s the _Evil Queen,_ ” Marian says, before a small figure comes barrelling into Regina’s legs. Regina looks down, away from Marian, settling eyes on the woman’s son, who grins at the sight of her.

“Gina! You’re back!”

The genuine happiness in Roland’s eyes makes Regina melt a little, even if the pain still smoulders away inside of her. She picks him up without thinking, swinging him onto her hip, grinning as he latches onto her shoulders.

“You’re wearing a pretty dress,” he says.

“Thank-you,” Regina tugs his hat down past his eyes playfully, before catching sight of Marian looking at them in horror, stock-still. An ugly feeling rises in her chest which feels something like jealousy, maybe, before the guilt slams into her. She sways, nearly, Roland pulling his hat back up with a laugh.

“Don’t do that, Gina! I can’t see!”

Regina does it again, coming up with a plan on the fly. When he tries to pull it up again, she stops him.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” she says, walking over to where Robin and Marian stand slowly, forcing herself not to look at the other woman – the _first_ woman, Robin’s _wife_ – as she speaks to him. “Your father and I went on an adventure with Henry and Emma.”

“What kind of ‘venture?” Roland questions, buzzing with excitement.

“A rescue adventure,” Regina says, before handing the boy over to Marian, Robin pulling Roland’s hat off gently so he can see.

“ _Roland,_ ” Marian gasps, almost sobbing as she takes him eagerly. “You’re so big.”

“Mama?” Roland’s eyes widen and then it’s too much, that _guilt_ pressing around her like a vice. Robin isn’t even looking at his family – he’s looking at _her, Regina,_ like he still cares when this very situation is _his fault._

“Regina-” he starts, but Regina is already angrily teleporting away. His reaching arm passes through smoke.

Regina reappears in her entrance-hall gasping for breath, a maelstrom of emotion. She’s angry – angry at Robin, angry at the reality that is her _life_ – and so very upset, heart breaking in her chest. _He was supposed to be my happy ending! We had something good!_

“Aw, what’s the matter, sissy?”

 _Not to mention the resident witch in my house,_ Regina huffs, changing into Storybrooke clothes with a twitch of her wrist, grateful for the loud clack of her heels on the marble flooring. Zelena is lying on the sofa, boots kicked off and her hair strewn all over the pillows. Regina raises her arms, Zelena now the one gasping for breath.

“Well done. You ruined my life, just like you wanted to. Robin has his wife back and I am stuck in this hellhole with only Charmings and my good-for-nothing relatives for company,” Regina growls, tightening her hold before abruptly letting go as she remembers that Henry is included in that _Charming_ assessment. He wouldn’t want her to act like this – which reminds her. “Where’s Emma?” she questions.

Zelena, coughing slightly, shakes her head. “Don’t know, sis. She was a little pissed, too. Went somewhere and tied me to this admittedly comfortable sofa before she did.”

“Great,” Regina huffs, twisting back to the entrance hall, silencing Zelena as she starts to speak again. She doesn’t even have to glance back to know her sister is furious – a thrown cushion that skids to a stop just left to her telling Regina all she needs to know.

Though, that _is_ her favourite cushion.

“Disrespect my home and your tongue won’t be the only thing I take,” Regina threatens icily, picking the cushion up and dusting it off before chucking it right back at her sister, using magic to make her aim true. Striding towards her kitchen in deep want of a glass of wine, Regina only frowns very slightly upon hearing the downstairs shower on.

 _Perhaps Emma has taken advantage of modern technology,_ she thinks, remembering her first few weeks in a cursed Storybrooke – showers were a strange experience, but one Regina enjoyed after a time.

The clock in her kitchen says it’s nearing quarter past two and Regina honestly can’t tell what time of day it is for her internal clock, however that isn’t the point. _As long as it’s not before eleven am, I will gladly drink a glass or four of wine._ Pouring one, Regina sits up on the island table, taking a moment to appreciate her home in the Land Without Magic after staying in the Enchanted Forest for the past two days. The silence is far from welcoming, however.

Robin doesn’t deserve her anger. Marian never deserved to be imprisoned- well, she did, but not in that manner. Those who refused to give up Snow White willingly committed treason. Perhaps it’s just the new information – that she was, _is_ Robin’s wife and Roland’s mother – that makes Regina doubt herself. _We could have been happy,_ Regina mourns the loss of that. This isn’t an Emma Swan situation with Henry’s mother swanning into her life, pun not intended – Regina is the interloper, here.

 _I deserve this guilt, I should feel guilty for all the people I hurt,_ Regina thinks lowly. _I shouldn’t be guilty about our relationship, though, not how it’s ended at least. I need to talk to Robin without Marian being there, get a clear-cut ending._ Regina snorts. _If I get word to Leroy, I won’t even have to bother explaining everything over and over again._

Maybe she’d even have sympathisers – more and more people admit to liking her or forgiving her, these days. Supposed happy endings and true love being broken does make people pity more. Not that pity makes them her friends. Internally, she makes a note to call Kathryn Nolan – maybe Avigail would come over for a girls night, like they used to during the Curse, sometimes.

“ _Mom!_ ” she hears Henry call from upstairs.

“No shouting!” Regina replies, raising her voice.

“ _Mom?_ ” she hears his feet thumping down the stairs, before he comes power-walking around the corner. “Mom, you’re back.”

“I am,” Regina says, eyeing Elsa as she follows Henry gingerly. Seeing them side-by-side causes her to blink because they do look _remarkably_ similar. A coincidence, perhaps. “What do you need Emma for?”

“Ma was going to raid your wardrobe,” Henry says without preamble, glancing at Elsa.

“Oh really?” Regina finishes her glass of wine, standing and putting it on the sideboard by the sink. Then, she looks Elsa up and down. “I suppose you’re my size, though perhaps not in leg length. You may borrow a few items until your accommodations are sorted out – though how Emma was going to help you, I have no idea. She’s blind and she’s never seen my closet.”

“Well…” Henry starts, Regina giving him a _look._ He shrugs, far from embarrassed. “She did borrow your shirt, that one time.”

“Not with my permission, _mijo_ ,” Regina replies, unimpressed. “That was all you.”

“Guilty as charged,” Henry puts his hands up, oddly reminiscent of said other mother. In the background, Regina hears the shower turn off, small amounts of magic flaring on her magic-radar. Elsa herself looks in the direction of the bathroom curiously and Regina wonders how she’s adjusting, knowing magic expresses itself differently in Storybrooke.

A few seconds later, however, the door to the bathroom opens, admitting Emma in jeans, a tank-top and brown boots. In the middle of pulling a white wool sweater over her shoulder, Emma’s familiar swan necklace swings slightly with her quick movements. Regina can almost imagine everything to be normal, before her eyes come into view – the blue-green ring of her iris bleeding out into the white, the black of her pupil not even visible. It’s exceptionally clear they’ve been damaged by magic rather than by something benign.

“Emma,” Regina greets, “How are you settling into modern life again?”

“It’s great,” Emma replies, sounding relaxed to the bone. She looks in Regina’s direction, head twisting slightly. “You got changed.”

“I did,” Regina nods, before rolling up her sleeves, not planning on wearing the matching blazer for her trousers this evening. Regina wonders if what little Emma’s can see – colours and shapes, if she recalls corrects – allows her to define different shades of purple, if it looks like she’s wearing maroon instead of the rightful aubergine. _A question for another time,_ she thinks, turning to Henry. “As much as I adore the look, Prince Henry, I’d rather your new outfit be kept for special occasions.”

“Can I keep the crown?” Henry questions, hand reaching up to touch the golden band.

“If you want.” Amused, Regina ignores Emma’s query about Henry’s new headpiece, stealing Elsa away in a twist of smoke. _Time to introduce yet another queen to Storybrooke fashions._

Elsa is bewildered by some of her outfits, scandalised at her pencil skirts and dresses but fascinated by her underwear collection. Regina doesn’t know whether to be embarrassed or amused by it all, though it takes a special kind of patience to size her as neither woman knows each other very well. However, Emma’s assessment that Regina’s clothes might fit her are correct, though like Regina thought, her legs are a little too long for most trousers. Luckily, Regina has a pair of extra-length black jeans on standby from an accidental purchase she obviously forgot to return.

Unearthing a sports bag from a different closet, Regina packs a few outfits for Elsa to borrow and even gives her a pair of purple heels.

“These fabrics are strange,” Elsa tugs at the sleeves of her leather jacket, Regina reaching out to adjust her collar. _She looks good in collared shirts, though this blue is a little too dark for her._ “They are comfortable, though.”

“You look like mom,” Henry says from the doorway in a joking manner.

Elsa glances at Henry, giving a nervous smile. “I do?”

“You do,” Regina confirms, reaching over to undo her braid, trying not to be too invasive as she undoes it, surprised at the straightness that follows. There’s only a few kinks to her hair and quite honestly, the resemblance to Emma is uncanny. Frowning, Regina wonders if a Royal from north of the White Mountains found their way into Snow’s family tree.

“Are we going to go see Grandpa?” Henry questions, next. “He could help imprison Zelena properly.”

Regina winces in memory, stepping away from Elsa. “No. We don’t need help any more. In fact, it would be best if you don’t mention anything about Zelena or what happened in the past to anyone – anyone at all.”

“Why?” Henry asks, frowning in suspicion. “Did you do something?”

“Just let Emma and I do the talking,” Regina instructs quietly. “Where is Emma, in any case?”

“Eating cocoa puffs,” Henry replies with a sigh. “I think she missed junk food. She was talking about getting a pizza.”

“Well, I can’t fault her for that,” Regina snorts, before Elsa inquires.

“What is a… _pizza?_ ”

“Oh my god,” Henry stares at the other queen in wonder. “You’ve never had _pizza?_ Mom, you _have_ to let us have it tonight – Emma and Elsa _need_ it!”

“I’ll think about it,” Regina dismisses, knowing Emma would probably order in anyway, pausing on recalling that Emma might have trouble remembering the number – it’s not like she can read it off the menu. _Maybe she has it saved to her phone…_ “Henry, do you know what happened to your mothers belongings?”

“Huh?”

“David took the Bug back,” Regina frowns, “Is her phone in it?” Regina knows that there are certain features on newer phones that allow for blind people to use them – it would only be a matter of setting it up for Emma and letting her learn how to use it.

“I think so?” Henry ventures, obviously unsure. “I left my phone in Granny’s…”

“Same here,” Regina’s lip twists. “Obviously, our first port of call is collecting our things from the diner. We can visit your more royal grandparents next, if they aren’t there. I’ll put Zelena in the asylum, until we get a more permanent sentence sorted out.”

“What about house arrest?” Henry questions, “We could do up the basement and then you could just go downstairs to check on her.”

Regina raises her eyebrow, “And what gives you the impression I want her anywhere near me, let alone you? She threatened your life multiple times – your _existence_ more. I’m not sure what I can say to you to make you believe that Zelena is dangerous, Henry.” By the end of her little speech, she’s frowning, recalling Henry’s exuberance when they first arrived in the past. The fact that he was there at all is testament to his wiliness.

Henry shrugs. “She’s your sister.”

“Family isn’t everything, Henry,” Regina warns quietly, “something Zelena has proven time and time again. She tried to do something worse than murder.”

“But she’s your _sister_ , mom, my aunt-”

“Do _not_ call that woman your aunt,” Regina interrupts, angry beyond belief and scared. A moment later, before she even realises it’s happening, Emma appears, magic at the tips of her fingers.

“What’s wrong?”

Perplexed, Regina grabs her wrist, using this new connection between them to push her magic back before she hurts someone.

“Nothing. Henry is just insisting on calling Zelena family.”

“You were upset,” Emma says shortly, without preamble, before looking at Henry, frowning. “Zelena isn’t your family, kiddo. Don’t defend her.”

Henry huffs, rolling his eyes. “Why not? She should get a second chance.”

“She wasted that when she travelled through time again trying to change the past. We already have two people here in the future that we’ve taken out of time, not to mention whoever the hell Cecil is.”

Regina blinks. “Cecil? What about him?”

Emma visibly pauses, “Right. Right, uh…I don’t know who he is because I somehow changed time enough that he exists, now.”

 _Gods,_ Regina stares at Emma, flabbergasted, unable to remember a time where Cecil didn’t exist – popping up all the time in Rumple’s castle playing that stupid lute of his. “You must have- must have influenced Rumple or something similar. He’s Rumple’s son.”

“You mean Jamie?” Henry queries.

“Yes,” Regina answers his question swiftly, but she’s still focused on Emma, vaguely distressed that Cecil exists now. “Are you sure you’ve never met? He can be easy to forget.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t know him – he goes by Jamie in Storybrooke?” Emma asks.

“He used to babysit me,” Henry says, “when Ruby was busy, I mean. He was a dishwasher. I don’t know what he does now.”

“Still dishwashes, when he isn’t doing books for his father,” Regina informs him.

“…okay,” Emma mutters, before shaking her head. It takes a moment for Regina to realise she’s still holding the other woman’s wrist and once she does, she makes the decision to step closer, linking their arms, readying her teleportation magic. “Are we going somewhere?” Emma questions and how she _feels_ across the link between them, trying to find Regina’s intentions is both strange and slightly comforting – it’s not a suspicious foray, just a curious one.

Emma _trusts_ Regina. She can sense it.

“Granny’s Diner,” Regina replies casually, reaching for Emma, Elsa and Henry with her magic, transferring them to just inside the doorway of said establishment. When they appear, Granny barks.

“No magic in the diner!”

“Apologies, Mrs Lucas,” Regina offers unapologetically, scanning the booths and tables, finding the usual afternoon patrons. “Do you happen to know what happened to our belongings, when we went through the portal?”

Granny peers at them, adjusting her glasses. “Sherriff, you’re back, I see. What in the blazes happened to your eyes, girl?”

“An accident,” Emma says, voice tight and her grip on Regina tighter. “You can probably see better than I can, now.”

“I see. Your things are in the back, Regina – David and Snow took Henry’s coat home with them. The Merry Men took Robin’s things.”

At the mention of her former partner, Regina’s lip curls. “I don’t quite care for Robin anymore, so there’s no need to mention him.”

“Ho, what happened _there?_ ” Ruby questions, leaning over the bar. “Hey Emma.”

“Hey, Rubes.”

Regina ignores their exchange, catching sight of Leroy a few stools down from the werewolves listening in. “The time portal took us to the day before his wife died. Maid Marian is now quite alive. It is quite safe to say that Robin and I are…over.”

“He was an idiot,” Henry says.

“Yep,” Emma agrees.

Granny hums to herself, before peering at Elsa. “And who’s this?”

“I am Elsa, Queen of Arendelle,” Elsa introduces herself, “I was trapped and Emma and Regina rescued me. I need to find out what happened to my kingdom in my absence – the timeline couldn’t be risked by releasing me in the past.”

“Well, good luck to you,” Granny says, Regina summoning her belongings from the back, her coat and handbag reappearing in her grasp in a small purple cloud. She watches the older woman turn towards the kitchen, calling, “Jamie! Sherriff Swan is back! Get out here to tell her about the incident!”

“Incident?” Emma questions, but Regina felt her stiffen at hearing Jamie’s name. Regina watches him walk through from the back, lanky blonde-brown fringe flopping over his eyes. As per usual, he’s wearing a t-shirt in a horrendous shade of yellow tucked into perfectly pressed slacks, an apron around his waist that he tucks his dish-cloth into.

“Emma Swan! What’s up?” Jamie grins charmingly at the group, winking – not that Emma can see it, which becomes apparent to the teen a moment later. His smile drops, the change dramatic as ever. “Oh, what happened to your eyes? I heard what you said to Granny, but-”

“Get to the point,” Granny cuts in, a necessity when it comes to James Gold.

However, before Jamie can continue, to Regina’s surprise, Elsa interrupts. “Sir James?”

Jamie looks at Elsa, raising an eyebrow. “Uh…no?”

“You know Jamie?” Regina questions, confused as to how Elsa could know him, feeling a pool of dread in her stomach that isn’t her own. She glances at Emma, who rubs her forehead, obviously thinking furiously.

“Yes…no. I don’t know how to explain – Sir James is older,” Elsa relays, the air cooling around them as she becomes distressed.

“Does that mean Jamie’s going to travel through time?” Henry questions excitedly. “That’s so cool! You get to go to the Enchanted Forest!”

“That sounds…great, Henry,” Jamie frowns, however. “Anyway. I didn’t want to bring it up with Deputy Nolan because I don’t think he likes me – but some of the Lost Boys have been vandalising the school. I go to that school. I don’t _like_ seeing dicks all over the walls in spray-paint.”

“Hey,” Regina says warningly, frowning. Granny whacks him with a tea-towel.

“Ow. Oi, woman,” Jamie scowls at the crone, rubbing his arm. “You’re lethal with that. You leave _marks_. It’s not like I’m already injured, _no!_ ”

“How is vandalism an incident? It’s pretty normal, actually,” Emma queries.

“It’s an incident because I tried to stop them,” Jamie starts, tugging up his shirt to show a heavily bruised torso. “Used magic to vanish their paint and they beat me up. Dr Whale says I’ve got three cracked ribs and a grade two concussion.”

“Are you alright?” Regina immediately questions, alarmed at the sight. _This is my brother,_ she thinks, feeling a strange, sudden anger – a kind of defensiveness that usually only rises when Henry or Roland are concerned.

“I’ll heal,” Jamie tucks his shirt back into his slacks.

“You’ll have to go to the station,” Emma instructs, “I’ll give…wait, do you have a phone?”

“Just call the shop – Dad will pass it on,” Jamie says. “Dad took my phone off me when he found me and Angus making out in the back room instead of watching the shop.”

“Right.” Emma replies, obviously entertained by his anecdote. “I’ll leave a message saying what time to come down and I’ll…I’ll have someone help us fill out the paperwork. Do you know which of the Lost Boys beat you up?”

“Beat him black and blue, by the look of it,” Regina mutters, regretting ever rescuing those boys.

“I know them by face – there were three of them.”

“We’ll deal with it at the station,” Emma says, nudging Regina. “Where next?”

“Your parents,” Regina replies, raising her hand, only for Granny to snap.

“No magic in the diner! Go outside or don’t do it at all!”

Regina scowls at the woman, “I do what I like.” Then she teleports them anyway, right into Snow and Charming’s apartment. When they arrive, Snow is chatting away to baby Neal as she folds laundry, the TV on a music radio channel. Snow looks up at the sight of them, gasping.

“Emma! You’re back!”

“Hey, mom,” Emma greets with a sigh of relief, detaching from Snow and then nearly tripping over a raised plank of wood. Henry and Elsa startle, but Regina grabs her elbow, hauling her upright as she finds her feet again. Snow rushes over, embracing Emma tightly.

“Honey, it’s so good to see you – are you alright? Where’s Zelena? Did everything go okay?” She pulls back, gasping at Emma’s eyes. Regina has a feeling it’ll be a point of much stress on Emma in the near future as a deep crease appears in between her eyebrows.

“I’m a little blind, now,” Emma says. “Other than that, I’m fine.”

 _You don’t feel fine,_ Regina thinks along the bond between them, not expecting Emma to jerk, looking in her direction sharply, the bond pulsing – Regina hearing Emma’s voice in her head.

_Did you say that in my head?_

Regina stiffens. _You can hear me?_

 _Yes._ Emma replies and they both share some strong, but mixed feelings.

“I know that face,” Snow starts, looking between them, looking at Regina in the end, “What’s wrong?”

“…we’ll deal with it ourselves,” Regina says after a long moment. “If it was something you could actually help with, be assured, you would be called, Snow.”

“Are you sure?” Snow looks to Emma now, making a pained face at the sight of her and _dear gods_ , Regina is so very thankful in that moment that Emma can’t see, because who knows how her self-worth would be affected if she saw how Snow cringes. Henry on Emma’s other side catches his mothers eye, the two sharing a look of mutual dissatisfaction.

“We’re sure,” Emma confirms, before Neal whines loudly, his sister visibly perking up. “Wait, that’s the baby – how is he?”

That sets Snow right, a sunny smile appearing on her face, “Oh, he’s a nightmare, but he’s _so_ precious. It’s only been a few days, but already I’m exhausted. He’s worth it. Do you want to see him?” It takes Snow a moment to realise what she said, “I mean- uh, hold him?”

“I’m not completely blind,” Emma says in a soft voice, though Regina can feel the rising doubt. “Though, I think I’m good for now.”

“Are you sure?” Snow asks again, far more worried. _She’s not **completely** ignorant to how Emma’s feeling,_ Regina thinks grudgingly, watching them embrace again as Snow gets emotional. Emma appreciates the contact – it’s easy to see.

“Where’s Grandpa?” Henry questions after a long silence, Elsa peering over his shoulder at the baby.

“The station,” Snow answers, she and Emma reluctantly disentangling. Regina thinks it’s the most emotional she’s ever seen Emma, when it comes to her parents. “Do you need him?”

“We want our phones,” Henry replies. “Do you have them?”

Snow pauses, “I think I do. Just over there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Jamie is, of course, a new character. Anyone ever watched David Tennant stuff? Welp, I think he looks like Robert Carlyle and that's my excuse for his entire creation. We got a Young!David Tennant here as baby Jamie | Cecil and in the future-past (woooh, go me for expanding on Elsa and timeline hijinks!) we got ur Older!David Tennant as Sir James of Arendelle.


	8. Chapter 8

At the station, David is pretty happy to see them and Emma herself is relieved that he hasn’t been erased or something similar – quite honestly, after meeting ‘Jamie Gold’, Emma is on edge. It disturbs her to meet the consequence of her mistakes. Something must have happened with Rumple, with the potion; events must have diverted enough from canon enough that his future actions were changed, that his relationship with Cruella de Vil _changed._

 _He has another son,_ Emma thinks, still slightly mystified by it all.

“What…” Elsa murmurs and Emma can see her pick something up – a file? A newspaper? Something floppy, at least. “This is my sisters necklace.”

“Really?” Regina steps forwards, investigating. “Huh. Gold _did_ get married, then, properly.”

“Properly?” Emma queries.

“Their marriage under the Curse wasn’t real,” Regina dismisses, like this isn’t news to Emma, who makes a face.

 _Oh no._ “They weren’t married under the Curse before,” Emma covers her face with her hands, groaning into them.

“They weren’t?” Henry questions, perplexed. “What was it like before?”

“Gold was alone,” Emma mumbles, hands slipping back to her sides, clenching into fists. “Belle was in the asylum.”

“How the hell did she get in there?” Regina questions, astonishment drifting across their connection.

“Uh,” Emma blinks, clearing her throat. “You- you kidnapped her before you cast the Curse, or something. Gold thought she was dead. So, that didn’t happen in this new timeline?”

“Most certainly not,” Regina replies crossly, disturbed. “I might have had leanings, at one point, but Cecil was there – I couldn’t just whisk her away.”

“Right,” Emma says awkwardly, before looking in David’s direction, hating how she can’t meet his eyes. “That reminds me, Jamie Gold was beaten up by some Lost Boys. He wants to report it, but I won’t be able to fill out the forms, really, or…well,” Emma stops, feeling awkward.

“I can handle it,” David reassures her.

“He wanted me,” Emma replies, “He wasn’t comfortable coming to you.”

“Emma, it’s fine. I might not like his father, but he’s a teenager and the Lost Boys are our responsibility. Let me follow up on this.”

“Alright,” Emma agrees reluctantly. “I said I’d call the pawnshop with a time for him to come in tomorrow. Dr Whale saw him – you could chase up the doctors report.”

“Why doesn’t Charming take Elsa to Gold’s,” Regina offers, “and see about this necklace? He can give Rumple a time for Jamie to meet here tomorrow and get some other legwork done.”

“Great idea,” David agrees. Emma is hesitant though, not knowing enough about Jamie’s relationship with her father to let it all slide like this. “We’ll be fine,” he assures.

“We can go see about our mutual friend, as well,” Regina adds, thinking to her, _I know how to resurrect Mal, Emma._ At the mention of Maleficent, Emma perks up, knowing she wants answers to some questions she has – like if she _really_ is a dragon, if she’s immortal like Mal said, or if Mal was lying to her.

“Yeah,” Emma nods, giving in, “yeah, let’s do that. Elsa, are you okay to go with David?”

“Yes. If I can find out what happened to Anna, then I have somewhere to start from.”

“Can I go with them?” Henry questions eagerly.

“If you promise to behave,” Regina replies, combing her fingers through his hair. “No running off after villains or jumping into portals.”

“I promise to behave,” Henry replies in a voice that makes Emma _very_ sure he just rolled his eyes.

With that sorted, Emma transports Regina and herself to the cavern where she fought Maleficent in her dragon form all those years ago. The mustiness of the cave makes her wrinkle her nose, but Emma ignores it in favour of reaching out with her magic, curious as to if she can feel Mal anywhere nearby. However, she only feels Regina, the disapproval radiating from her at Emma’s actions.

“You won’t find anything,” Regina says, summoning a fireball for light. “Seeing as you vanquished her, your blood should be sufficient in resurrecting her.”

“Are you sure?” Emma nearly whines, not wanting to have to cut her hand open or anything like that. Regina takes her wrist, ignoring her words, her magic reaching out – feeling rather dark as it encourages Emma’s hand to split open. Strangely enough, she feels that same magic affecting Regina, a wetness swelling around her wrist even as Emma hisses at the pain of her own cut.

“You too?” she questions, gritting her teeth.

“I need to spill your blood with intent, but I also need to spill mine, so as to tie a debt between Maleficent and I for resurrecting her,” Regina says as Emma allows her to guide her forwards, tilting her hand to the side before letting go of her wrist, murmuring her name five times in quick succession. Blood drips down from both of their outstretched limbs and Emma hears a sizzle as the liquids hit something – something which sucks out the magic of their blood in a bloom of smoke that tastes of ash and death, that stinks of _Mal_.

“Step back,” Regina urges her quickly, grasping her bloody hand and pulling her backwards. Emma briefly thinks that they shouldn’t be holding cut hands – not if they don’t want to share bacteria – before getting distracted by the powerful summoning she can feel, the cave shaking as the magical smoke blooms up and up. Mal in her dragon-form is a beacon of magic and Emma reaches out, re-establishing their connection with nary more than a thought.

Mal roars at the contact, though, not quite remembering yet what they are to each other. Emma pulls Regina to the side, teleporting at the same time, reappearing on the other side of the cavern as dragonfire roasts where they previously stood.

“What did you do?” Regina exclaims, before Emma pulls at her dragon magic, infusing her voice with it as she bellows.

“ _Make it right, make it so, bring back the memories that Mal should hold!_ ”

Her voice booms, the magic activating as soon as Emma slices her arm through the air in front of her. Mal stumbles, shaking the cave before faltering, ecstatic joy spreading around her. Emma smiles without thinking, the emotions taking hold of her as Mal transforms into humanoid form.

“Emma,” Mal says, blissful, “and _Regina,_ my two favourite people.” The dragon sweeps over to them and before Emma can do more than blink, an arm wraps around her, pulling her into an embrace. Emma allows it, reciprocating one-handedly, the other still trapped in Regina's bloody grasp, Mal pressing up against them both, one arm around each of their necks.

"Hey, Maleficent," Emma greets. "How's life?"

"Life is dark, currently – why didn't you resurrect me outside?" Mal questions, before letting them go. Emma goes to let go of Regina's hand, but before more than three fingers can separate, there's a _zap_ of pain, made from magic, like an exceptionally painful bit of static. Emma flinching, Regina hissing, before trying to pull their hands away from each other.

More static.

“What the hell?”

Emma reaches out with her magic, not having to reach far before she feels a kind of chain between them both – infused with magic, but bound with something physical, despite the contrary.

“It’s the blood,” Regina mutters, embarrassment flooding their bond. Emma feels Mal’s amusement at the same time in a different way to how she feels Regina’s emotions – probably because they’re all bound to each other in separate ways. “It’s my fault.”

“It’ll wash off,” Mal tells Emma, before tucking her arm into Emma’s free elbow. “Now, let’s leave this dreary hellhole.”

“I’ll take us home,” Emma offers, then transports the three of them to Regina’s house. Regina twists their joined hands upwards weirdly and Emma wants to ask why, before feeling blood trickle down her wrist. Her nose wrinkles. “We should get cleaned up.”

“Agreed,” Regina says, pulling Emma out of the entrance hall. Mal is tugged along, though Emma has a feeling that Mal is more intrigued by the house, if her spike in curiosity is anything to think of.

Regina is the one to get most of the blood off their hands. Emma thinks they might be in the kitchen, though she isn’t sure until she asks, Regina pausing before confirming her guess.

“Emma,” Regina starts cautiously, “Would you like me to figure out the accessibility functions on your phone?”

 _My phone?_ Emma puts her hand to her pocket, immediately remembering Snow’s awkward question about whether or not she could still use it. Emma had pretended not to hear, but things were happening again and again that made her feel stupid or useless – like Henry casually asking her what the time is and now, having to ask Regina if they’re in the kitchen and feeling self-conscious.

Their hands separate after Regina reaches out, prodding at the metaphysical chain, which shatters without the blood to tie them together. Shaking her hand out – a last _zap_ vibrating through her bones – Emma wipes the excess water off on her jeans, before Regina huffs and presses a tea-towel into her hand.

“Honestly, Emma.” Regina mutters and Emma wonders if she’s rolling her eyes. “So?”

“…uh, sure,” Emma hands her phone over.

“Passcode?”

“Henry’s birthday,” Emma replies, listening to the _click-click-click-click-click-click_ , before the phone unlocks. “How can I even use it?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out. It’s a smartphone, it should have…ah, here we go,” Regina says, reading out the functions. Basically, if Emma taps a button, it’ll read out the button and or the app name, which she just presses again to open.

“Voice-to-text should work for messaging, I suppose,” the Saviour muses, recalling little bits of information she’d not needed to remember during her time in the Enchanted Forest. Regina hands her back her phone and she figures out she’s holding it upside down from where the power button and volume sits, which is cool. “Okay Google.”

The app opens up with a couple of noisy blinks and Emma – feeling a little freer, knowing she isn’t _completely_ helpless when it comes to technology, now – searches up the number for the pizzeria in Storybrooke. Regina sighs a little, but stays quiet as Emma cheerfully calls the number, making an order for that evening, adding on a thin and crispy Mediterranean veg for Regina that Henry mentioned she liked. After making sure it would be delivered that evening and not ASAP, Emma hangs up, finding where Regina’s probing with a little gentle whack-the-surrounding-area-with-her-hand.

“Thank-you for helping,” Emma says, before hugging the other woman gently, their heads knocking briefly, before Emma settles her chin on Regina’s shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” Regina murmurs quietly, before Mal hums pleasantly.

“You’re adorable. Now, where is this son of yours?”

“He’s with his grandparents – both sides,” Regina replies, before Emma feels a stirring from Maleficent, her fire burning hot and angry. She pulls back from Regina slightly, turning to Mal, one arm still lightly wrapped around Regina’s torso.

“Snow White and Prince Charming,” Mal rumbles, before her arm raises, dark fabric of her dress blocky and almost _sparkling_ against the white of the kitchen. A hand cups Emma’s cheek, before Emma feels memory sift from Mal to her. For a moment, she can _see_ – see a cave full of enchanted silver, meant to distract trespassers from the true treasure. But then she hears them.

 _“What is that, a rattle?”_ A man – a voice of a man Emma recognises. David.

 _“Looks to me like she hoards anything silver,”_ Snow says. _“Look – there it is. A nest and the egg.”_

“ _Careful,”_ David says, “ _It’s as dangerous as she is._ ”

There’s a moment of silence before memory-Maleficent rears up slowly, turning sideways, draconic eyes locking on Snow and David from far above, obviously in her dragon form. David glances at the egg, then grabs it, memory-Mal throwing him into a wall with her tail as he strategically throws her cocooned child to Snow – _throws_ it, like they aren’t precious and vulnerable as they are, trapped in there

“ _Snow!_ ”

Memory-Mal fills her belly with fire, stopping Snow from running out of the cave, before the ‘good’ queen shouts.

“ _Torch us, Maleficent and this burns, too!_ ”

Emma feels Mal’s agony like a knife to her heart, heart-broken that her own parents could do this. She raises her hand, pressing it against Mal’s on her cheek.

“What are you showing her?” Regina questions, before Emma witnesses the rest of the memory – of Snow calling Mal’s child a monster waiting to happen and promising to bring them back when they’re done with it. Emma snaps back into reality when Mal’s emotions get too much for her, after she fails to stop them leaving, swaying slightly as her sight dims into colours and shapes again.

“You never got them back, did you?” Emma questions, already knowing the answer as she glances towards Regina. Anger bubbles deep in her stomach – as well as regret, regret that she ever thought they were as pure as they said they were. “Surprise, surprise – my parents stole her child.”

Regina’s surprise projects far. “They _what?_ ”

“My child. They took her and never returned her. They are not worthy of their own spawn – kidnappers I call them.”

“Literally,” Emma puffs a bit of air out of her mouth. “We’ll get them back.”

“How? I searched the lands, far and wide and _nothing_ – even Ursula and Cruella disappeared.” Mal squeezes Emma’s hand, almost cutting off her circulation. “They were guarding my cave that night. My child was supposed to hatch and I was waiting for that moment. It was supposed to be _happy_. They let Snow and Charming inside.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Regina immediately says, tense. “They’re our friends, Mal – they wouldn’t betray you to the Charmings.”

“You have,” Mal says, Emma a little shocked at the instant clap-back. “You willingly let your son go with them.”

“They wouldn’t hurt Henry,” Regina denies. “Unfortunately, he’s related to them.”

“Hey,” Emma mutters under her breath, trying to calm them both down. “Listen, we can help each other. If I demand answers from them, they’ll listen to me.”

“I don’t just want _answers_ , Emma,” Mal hisses, pained and angry. “I want _revenge._ They stole my child.”

“I get that, but you just said you couldn’t find her in the Enchanted Forest,” Emma starts. “Did you have a bond with them?”

“No- no, I only shared magic with them,” Mal says, all at once feeling so very depressed. “Emma. Regina. Help me.”

“We’ll help you,” Regina reaches out, hand going to Mal’s elbow. “Whatever it takes.”

“What if I want to kill them?” Mal questions, “Would you kill them?”

Emma feels the conflict in Regina – conflict that matches her own. Neither of them want Snow or David dead. That’s a fact. Emma doesn’t even know what would happen if they died. Emma would be an orphan again and this time, so would baby Neal. _I’d take custody of him,_ she thinks, stomach swooping at the thought. _If I wasn’t put on trial as an accomplice to murder._

“As much as I want to, right now – no, Maleficent.” Regina says. “I’m not evil anymore. I’m… _light._ ” Her disgust is prominent.

“Light is not the same as good,” Mal replies, however, sounding just as displeased. “Don’t get them mixed up again, for your own sake. Wielding dark magic isn’t a crime.”

“…that’s philosophy,” Emma mutters to herself, slightly surprised. The words make something click in her mind. _Light doesn’t equal good. Dark doesn’t equal bad – or rather, dark doesn’t equal evil, in Regina’s case._

* * *

The Black Fairy wand is far from _light_ , but it accepts Emma’s magic when she uses it to summon another portal in Regina’s back yard. Regina and Maleficent are inside, sorting out a new wardrobe for Mal from bits and pieces of Regina’s things, like with Elsa – if they sense the portal, it’s far too late for them to follow her through and when she goes through, Emma can’t stop her shudder as her magical bonds with each of them abruptly fade, like there’s a wall between them.

When she appears in the past once more, the first thing Emma does is summon a cloak from the Dark Castle, tying her hair back in a ponytail and glamouring it a dark auburn at the same time that she creates a glamour for her face, leaving her eyes alone so she doesn’t have to pretend to be anything other than blind. A good thing – because she hears voices behind her.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” a woman snaps. With her strange eyesight, Emma can see black and white – lots of black and white. Beside her is a dark-skinned woman in a sparkly green dress, wearing some kind of weird crown.

“I’m here to help,” Emma says stiffly. “You’re Cruella, right? And…Ursula?”

“How do you know our names?” Ursula questions, suspicious.

“I just…do,” Emma says. “I want to set a spell on the entrance to Mal’s cave, to make sure that no-one can get in.”

It was the easiest thing she could think of, something that could allow her to stop her parents from entering – stop anyone from interfering or taking Mal’s child. She can see at least, how Cruella and Ursula look to each other.

“How do we know you’re not going to do anything…nefarious?” Cruella questions.

“Look, I know you’re protective of her, but trust me when I say something bad _will_ happen if I don’t do this. People are coming and honestly, I’m a lot more powerful than the both of you,” Emma says, knowing it’s true.

“More powerful than two witches combined?” Ursula laughs, before wiggly things slip out from under her dress skirts. Emma thinks she might have flinched, had she been able to see them, but she’s distracted by the outline behind them. “Try us.”

“I don’t think I have to,” Emma murmurs, squinting. The moonlight illuminates little, but the dark still holds enough detail for her to see the cave entrance – the tiniest of warm glows flickering inside. She raises her left hand, the one not holding the wand and creates a ward, transporting herself away as soon as she feels it set in place, just in time to avoid a fireball from Ursula.

 _I did it,_ Emma thinks, smiling to herself, sitting down on a nearby tree-trunk. She grasps the Black Fairy’s wand, which lashes out at her good mood. _Oh, shut up,_ she thinks giddily, before standing again and summoning a time portal back to Storybrooke, to Regina’s back yard a moment after she left. She jumps through, feeling the warmth of the magic surrounding her as she is pulled through the portal to her destination.

But something goes wrong – the portal tightens and squeezes, before pushing her out. She lands on the grass and Emma has to spit pine needles out of her mouth as she gets up, peering around blearily. The sun is shining, but there’s no Storybrooke – no Mifflin Street or house 108. There are just trees and Emma wonders if she’s aimed wrong. She tries teleporting to Regina’s house, but she ends up what feels like only a few feet sideways.

 _There’s something wrong,_ Emma thinks, before taking out her phone from her back-pocket, blindly tapping icons, listening to her phone list them out for her before finding her contacts. Then – after a number of false starts – she finds Regina’s number, calling it.

Almost immediately, she picks up, but- “ _This number is not in service. Please try again._ ”

“Must have the wrong number,” Emma swallows nervously, calling a different number – Henry’s. Once again, it’s not in service and Emma gets chills, before trying one of her buddies in New York. He doesn’t pick up, going straight to voicemail – but it’s in service, definitely. Emma tries more and more of her contacts, alternating between her New York numbers and her Storybrooke numbers.

… _it’s just my Storybrooke numbers,_ she thinks, eventually, after her NYC friends pick up again and again, asking who she is and how she has their number. Emma has to hang up a couple of times, just in confusion, eventually coming up with a story about her brother changing all the numbers on her phone by two digits.

“How did that change time?” Emma questions out loud, not understanding – not understanding one bit. “How did that _fucking_ change time?” she asks again, punching a tree. “Doesn’t Mal deserve her kid? How the _hell_ _did that change time?”_

In her hand, the Black Fairy wand laughs at her and Emma refuses the urge to snap it, despite her promise to herself to do just that. _Where would everyone be if Storybrooke didn’t exist?_ Emma asks herself. _I need to know how the past was changed. Storybrooke doesn’t exist…was the Dark Curse even cast?_

There.

That’s it.

Emma straightens her back, making up a plan out loud, so she can work through it.

“If I go to the Enchanted Forest, where do I go? It’s too dangerous to go to the Forbidden Fortress when this evolves around Mal…I could go to the Dark Castle, but Rumple might be furious,” Emma’s lip twists, thinking of Neal – Baelfire-Neal, not baby Neal. “Neal’s alive, in this world. If the Dark Curse was never cast, then we never found him.”

Emma huffs. _At least one good thing came of this._ But, no Dark Curse could mean no Emma Swan – just Princess Emma. _Scratch that – Neal being alive doesn’t trump Henry never existing._

“Can’t go to Rumple,” Emma pushes a bit of hair behind her ear, thinking. “No Rumple, no Mal…we should still be connected, though. Unless time is weird, but then I’d never exist to be mated to her…that’s still such a weird word.”

It’s all too complicated and Emma doesn’t know why she hasn’t popped out of existence, if Storybrooke never existed – so much of her life revolves around that town now. She should be unravelling at the seams.

“Maybe I should go see myself,” Emma says to herself, finding she likes that idea. “Yeah. Maybe I should. Where’d I be, though? My parents’ castle?”

 _If time is changed, then I might not be alive,_ she thinks, before pushing those thoughts away. Raising the Dark Fairy wand, she aims for her ninth birthday party in the Enchanted Forest, closing her eyes to focus on the date. It feels like a mistake, allowing the time portal to pick her exact destination – but if she focuses on the _party_ , that should be enough.

The portal opens in its usual gold-orange glory.

* * *

_ The Enchanted Forest – (in a drastically alternate timeline) _

The ink is wet, but Daniela’s hand doesn’t shake as she draws out a star on Emma’s wrist. The nine-year old princess giggles as the quill itches her skin. Daniela finishes colouring in the shape soon, though, lifting the quill away carefully and putting it back in the inkwell.

“There, now we match,” the dragon-child pronounces, holding their starry wrists side by side. “When you’re older, you can get a tattoo, so it’ll be there forever and then when you’re a century old, you can get another one.”

“Like you?” Emma asks, blowing on the ink to make it dry faster. “I want to be a dragon.”

“You don’t need to be a dragon to be special, my sweet,” comes Queen Regina’s voice, before she presses a kiss to Emma’s blonde head. “You’ll be married to Daniela, one day and she’ll take you flying.”

“Like you and Maleficent fly?” Emma lights up, looking to Daniela. “Does that mean you’ll get bigger?”

Daniela’s nose scrunches up. “I’m not _that_ small!”

“Yes, you are,” Emma teases, before her head snaps up at the sense of strange magic. Before her eyes, a woman falls out of thin air and hits her head on the stone. Emma makes a face, empathetic to the woman’s pain, watching her groan.

“Ow…”

“Who are you?” Queen Regina rears up, however, pushing Emma and Daniela behind her, guards at the doors to the room approaching with their spears. “How did you get in here?”

The woman stands shakily and Emma peers around Regina’s dress to see her, the woman pushing back the hood of her cloak to show off fine red hair tied back simply, blood dribbling from a fresh bruise on her forehead she got from her fall. Emma gasps though at the sight of her eyes – strange and wide, blue rushing into white.

“I don’t even know where this is,” the woman says, before Emma notices the wand clenched in her hand.

“I doubt that, seeing as you’ve managed to crash the birthday party of Princess Emma of the White Kingdom,” Queen Regina snits, bringing a fireball into existence.

“Mama,” Daniela protests, grabbing her elbow. “She’s _hurt_ , can’t you see?”

“Daniela, stay back,” Queen Regina replies, eyes locked on the stranger. “Answer my questions.”

“If you answer mine, Regina,” the woman says, surprising Emma.

“You didn’t call her _Your Majesty,_ ” she says in a loud hush, fearful for the stranger – Queen Regina didn’t like it even when _Emma_ didn’t call her Queen or Your Majesty.

“Sorry,” the stranger says. Emma doesn’t think she sounds very sorry at all. “Is Princess Emma here, by any chance?”

“…are you serious?” Queen Regina hisses. “I can see you’re impaired, but stupidity isn’t what I quite associate with witches powerful enough to break into my castle.”

“Hey, I’m not that much of an idiot,” the stranger says, oddly offended. “Would you rather I explain myself before you go chucking around insults like it’s tennis?”

Emma glances at Daniela, whispering, “What’s tennis?”

Daniela shrugs, dark hair slipping over her shoulder, “I don’t know.”

Queen Regina scoffs. “Go on. Try explaining yourself. Then, maybe I won’t let my wife burn you to a cinder.”

“…wife. Burn to a cinder. Right, Maleficent’s your wife, of course she is,” the stranger says, as if explaining it to herself. She shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Just to be clear, this is going to sound strange and downright impossible, but I’m a time traveller from the future and I need to understand what changed when I stopped Mal’s kid from being kidnapped before she hatched.”

Daniela makes a noise, “Kidnapped?”

Emma tugs on Queen Regina’s dress, uncaring of the fireball less than two feet away from her face. “Your Majesty, what does she mean?”

Queen Regina glances down at her for the first time since the stranger arrived, “I’m going to find out.”

“I’m being serious,” the stranger says, “Also, you can’t call Mal, because then things will just get complicated.”

“Is it because you’re a dragon?” Daniela asks, causing Queen Regina’s fireball to sputter out of existence for a few seconds.

“Why is another dragon here asking questions like this? Why would you try to make us believe you’re a time-traveller?”

The stranger doesn’t answer, though, looking at Daniela. “How’d you know that, kiddo?”

“I’m a dragon too,” Daniela says, clutching Queen Regina’s elbow. “You smell familiar.”

“That’s because you know me,” the stranger says quietly. “You’re at Princess Emma’s birthday party. Why?”

“Because we’re friends,” Daniela says.

“Enough,” Queen Regina interrupts, “Daniela, stop talking to the intruder.”

“Daniela – named after Daniel?” the stranger questions, Emma wondering who Daniel is supposed to be before Queen Regina’s fireball disappears completely. She even takes a small step backwards. “This is like Henry all over again. You’re Regina’s kid, aren’t you? And Maleficent’s kid – you’re Maleficent’s baby dragon _._ Holy _shit,_ I’m too lucky _._ ”

“Do not swear in front of my daughter,” Queen Regina says, strangled. “Guards, arrest her.”

“Woah- hey, no need for that!” the stranger raises her hand, pointing the wand at them. It flashes white, blasting them back into the wall. “ _Shit_ ,” the woman looks to the wand, “forgot I had this. Damn…” the woman inches towards the groaning guards, crouching down beside one, taking off her helmet and checking her out. “Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that – are you okay?”

“Fine,” the guard says, wincing. “Put down your weapon.”

“…no thanks,” the stranger says, before waving the wand again, all the guards falling dead asleep to the ground. Emma feels Queen Regina grasp her shoulder and she looks up to see a funny expression on her face – it’s what Daniela looks like when she’s scared.

“Girls,” she whispers, “I’m going to send you away. You need to find Maleficent, tell her what’s happening here. I’ll hold this witch off.”

“No, we’re not leaving you!” Daniela refuses and Emma can feel the Queen’s magic rise up and up, but Daniela pushes it back. “ _No,_ mama!”

“Daniela – _mija!_ This is important!” Queen Regina exclaims, before the stranger speaks again.

“Hey, don’t chat back to your mom,” she admonishes Daniela, “She’s just trying to keep you safe, even though I really won’t hurt you. You’re a kid – I don’t hurt kids.”

“You might hurt Queen Regina, though,” Emma says, feeling a little uneasy now, biting her lip. The stranger looks in her direction with those strange, horrible eyes. “Would you?”

“I’d never hurt her,” the stranger says, unusually softly. “You don’t understand. This time- this time shouldn’t exist. I’m a time traveller. Things weren’t supposed to happen like this. Your friend was supposed to be kidnapped by Snow White and Prince Charming, Mal was supposed to lose her – I changed that. It created all of this and now my family doesn’t exist.”

Emma’s heart seizes. “Your family?”

“Don’t listen to a word she says, Emma,” Queen Regina orders, but her voice is shaky. “Don’t believe a single thing that comes out her mouth. She’s an intruder – she’s here to hurt us.”

The stranger makes an annoyed face, “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I tried to help and it erased everything – Storybrooke didn’t exist anymore. What was the point in saving Mal’s child?”

“Mal’s _daughter,_ ” Queen Regina snaps, putting a hand on Daniela’s head, holding her to her body. “Mal’s daughter, _my_ daughter, our Daniela. She has a name, she has a gender-”

“My son doesn’t exist anymore! Our son doesn’t _exist!_ ” the stranger snarls, taking a step forwards. “Henry Daniel Mills doesn’t exist!”

“I don’t know who that is,” Queen Regina says.

“Well, you _should_ ,” the stranger says, drawing herself up. “I know what changed. Mal came to you with Daniela and you couldn’t, could you? The Dark Curse requires the heart of the one you love the most, but you already had a happy ending. You didn’t need to curse everyone to another land.” The stranger backs up until she’s standing against a wall, hands rising to cover her face, tugging her hair out of her pony-tail angrily as she stuffs the wand into a pocket in her cloak. Emma’s eyes widen as the auburn washes out, blonde hair like her own, her face shimmering before _changing_.

“How did you do that?” Emma gasps, stepping forwards past Queen Regina, who grabs her shoulder to stop her moving forwards any further. The stranger glances over at her, pausing before squeezing her fingers around the circular tie in her grasp.

“Magic. You’ll be able to do it, one day – I know you will.”

“Will I?” Emma questions, “You’re a time traveller. Does that mean you’ve met me?”

The stranger laughs a little, then, grinning in her direction sadly. “More than that, kiddo. Word of advice, you look weird when you wear yellow, even if it’s your favourite colour.”

Immediately, Emma glares, stamping her foot. “I do not look weird!”

“Yeah, you really do,” the stranger’s lip twitches, before Queen Regina says her name.

“Emma.” Emma glances back at her, only to frown as she sees the Queen looking at the stranger. “Emma,” the Queen says again.

The stranger waves half-heartedly. “Hi, Gina.”

“…hello,” Queen Regina hesitates, “I don’t understand. Are you sure you’re not just from another realm?”

“Very sure. I’ve been doing this time travel malarkey for a while now. It’s all one timeline that gets muddled every time someone goes back. I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to put everything to rights,” Queen Regina holds Daniela to her tightly with two hands, Daniela and Emma sharing confused faces. “What happens to her?”

“I don’t know,” the stranger says, helpless. “All I know is that they take her and Mal never gets her back.”

With a start, Emma realises they’re talking about Daniela and she lunges forwards, rushing over to the stranger, grabbing at her cloak.

“No! Please! She’s my friend!” Emma pleads. “I don’t want her to go!”

The startles at her grip, hands clamping onto her wrists. “Kid- _Emma,_ stop. Stop, okay, there’s nothing you can do.”

“You’re not taking Daniela!” Emma bellows instead of calming down, trying to hit her and kick, only for the stranger to haul her up off the ground, holding her at arms length. She swings precariously for a moment, before the stranger puts her down again, pushing her away. Emma stands still for a moment, glancing down at her wrists to see the star Daniela had drawn smudged. Angry, she holds it up for the stranger to see. “You messed my star up!”

The stranger blinks, confused, “What?”

“My star! Daniela’s got one and so do I, because I’m going to marry her one day and we’re going to live for years and years and years!” Emma stamps her foot, before the stranger takes her outstretched hand, crouching down and bringing her wrist very close to her eyes, tracing the black smudge.

“A star,” she says, stunned. “Lily’s star.”

“Daniela’s star,” Emma frowns. “She was born with it.”

“So was- so was Lily,” the stranger says, slowly. “How many people in the universe are born with stars for birthmarks? How many meet girls called Emma and draw stars on her wrist?” The stranger traces the smudged ink, dirtying her fingers. Then, she tightens her grip, shaking Emma’s arm slightly. “…Daniela _will_ be your friend, Emma. Nothing can keep you apart. Mal was right – I was a fool not to believe in destiny. I promise, Emma, you will see Daniela again in the right timeline. You’ll share sandwiches and smiles, you’ll play games and you’ll even break a window together.”

“We’ve already broke a window before,” Emma says before she thinks, before making a horrified face, hearing Daniela’s groan of her name for saying that in front of Queen Regina. “I mean, we _saw_ someone break a window,” she tries to correct, glancing back at the Queen to see if her lie worked – which it hadn’t seemed to. The stranger lets go of her hand and when Emma looks back, the stranger has her wand out again, a brilliant smile in place.

“I know what to do,” she says. “And if there _is_ a chance that this universe still exists after I leave because of weird time travel nonsense, then good luck. Enjoy your happy ending, Regina.”

“I will,” Queen Regina says, before the stranger is leading Emma over to her, pressing Emma into her embrace before stepping back, pointing a warning finger at them.

“Don’t follow me. I don’t know what would happen if you did, or if I could get you back.” She pauses, eyeing Queen Regina briefly with squinty eyes before looking in Emma’s direction with a serious face. “If you and Lily- Daniela, I mean, if you and Daniela are really going to grow up and get married, do not – I repeat _do not_ – crush on Regina. I know she’s gorgeous, but she’s going to be your mother-in-law in this timeline and that’ll make things weird.”

Emma wrinkles her nose. “What’s a crush?” she looks to Daniela and then to Queen Regina, who’s face has gone red. She looks back to the stranger. “Who are you?”

The stranger grins. “In my universe, people call me _Emma Swan._ ” Then, she winks and turns, summoning a portal with her wand that is huge and gold streaked with orange, jumping through it. Emma watches it for a few more moments, watching it disappear, before turning to Daniela.

“It’s weird that a time-traveller had the same name as me,” she says, frowning as Daniela stares at her with an incredulous expression. “What?”

“Stars and fairies, Emma,” Daniela rolls her eyes. “Mama, am I going to marry an _idiot?_ ”

Queen Regina is still staring at where the portal had disappeared. “Daniela?”

“What, Mama?”

And Queen Regina looks at Daniela, shaking her head as she does.

“Daniela, I think the proof just visited us.”

* * *

 _There I go,_ Emma thinks, eyes closed as she feels herself transport away. With a small, hesitant flick of her fingers, the protection over the cave entrance disappears and she buries her head in her lap, wrapping her arms over her as the guilt wracks through her. _Lily. I’m so sorry, Mal, I’m so sorry. I tried, I really did, but I can’t get your baby back._

The real kicker is that Emma is that she can’t get Lily after she’s born, either – Lily has to go on to influence a young Emma. What would have happened without Lily? Would she have been picked up for shop-lifting when they first met? Would she have been put to juvie? Or later – would Emma have been adopted? Would Emma have gone on to take a new last name, a new family, a new set of parents and brothers?

 _But **after** …_she thinks, wondering if it’s too risky – if she could manage it without fucking up the timeline even more. _I need to check if it’s back to normal, before I do anything else. Then I can either- then I can either find the grown-up Lily or I can go back again, to the Land Without Magic and kidnap a fifteen year old Lily Page. It would have to be after she stole the money – after I was put back into care._

“I could do it,” Emma says to no-one – to the Enchanted Forest and the moon. She can feel the magic that seeps into the land, a presence that is absent in Storybrooke. She wonders why that is – why there’s no magic in the Land Without Magic. Was it cursed? Or was it always like that?

It’s the kind of thing that she thinks Rumple might know or maybe, Maleficent.

Pushing off those types of thoughts, Emma focuses on the Black Fairy’s wand, which is still smug and cackling, almost, at her despair. Emma fights it back, trying to keep it under control and succeeding, minimally. Then, she summons yet another portal, returning to the present day – but going to the park, rather than 108 on Mifflin. Emma doesn’t need either of her…friends, stopping her.

Sitting on a park bench – happy to find there _is_ a park bench – Emma banishes her Enchanted Forest cloak, reaching out with her magic, feeling her connections with Mal and Regina snap right back into place, their distress prominent. Emma hides herself away as best that she can, knowing she’ll be leaving shortly again.

The nearest person has a dog with them, remnants of a transformation spell stuck to their skin like a bad smell. _Archie?_ Emma internally questions. _Archie and Pongo?_

There’s no way for her to check, though if she squints at them, she _would_ probably have guessed it was the familiar dalmatian without having reached out. Emma draws her magic back into herself, feeling her dragonfire basically spilling out of her. She closes her eyes, remembering how Rumple called it a ‘beacon’.

_Can’t you get any smaller? You’re an inch away from leaving my body._

Her dragonfire merrily crackles away, though Emma gets a distinct impression that it wants to be used, that it _needs_ to be. Emma wonders if that’s simply _it_ – using it up by doing something. _I could turn into a dragon_ , she thinks, snorting, even as her dragonfire reacts happily to the suggestion.

“Really?” she questions out loud, amused. It’s been a while since she tried – not that she’s been in dragon form more than once, before. “There’s nowhere high enough,” Emma says to herself jokingly, not sure how to trigger the transformation without a high drop. Maleficent promised to help her with that. _Later,_ she promises herself.

Speaking of promises, though…

“I owe Rumple a visit,” Emma sighs, scrubbing at her forehead. Their contract isn’t fulfilled, yet and Emma knows that the longer she puts it off, well – there was no _time_ limit, but it’s a bit rude to leave him without his memory on purpose. “After Lily,” she swears, grimacing as she remembers – once again – how she caught Rumple with Cora that one time. _That is going to be seared into my brain for the rest of fucking time, **ugh**._

Feeling lazy, Emma conjures another time portal, but in the ground so she just has to stand and step into it. So many portals – so many trips back and forth, going from the past to the future, from Storybrooke to the Enchanted Forest. But this time is different. This time, when she is thrown out of the portal, it’s onto the concrete in front of a bus stop, in the Land Without Magic.

 _Mankato, Minnesota, nineteen ninety-nine,_ Emma thinks as she hauls herself to her feet, wincing as parts of her body ache from the abrupt landing. Rubbing at her elbow, Emma reaches out with her magic, more than a little disturbed by the sudden lack of magic, even the type that Storybrooke is laced with. Except-

A beacon. Dragonfire. Smouldering dragonfire – a magic asleep inside, dormant.

 _Not so dormant anymore,_ Emma then thinks as it unfurls at her touch, awakening. She hears a gasp and she turns, easily seeing the short figure under the harsh bus stop lights.

“How- how did you-”

“Magic,” Emma answers Lily’s stuttered question, tucking the Wand in her back-pocket. “It’s a little complicated, kid, but I’m willing to explain if you’d let me.”

“Who are you? You’re so familiar… and what- what happened to your eyes?”

“An accident,” Emma brushes it off, biting her lip. “My story’s going to sound _crazy_. You might want to run away or call the cops.”

“You appeared out of thin air,” Lily gives a crazed laugh, “I think I’m already crazy enough to believe you.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Emma says in a warning tone, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I’m a time-travelling Emma Swan. Your mother is Maleficent, a dragon and the Evil Queen cursed a heap of fairy-tale characters to live in this realm, the Land Without Magic. Everyone lives in a place called Storybrooke, where I’d like to take you.”

“…you’re right,” Lily says. “It’s crazy.”

“I can prove it,” Emma claims, before reaching for her dragonfire, pulling it up through her throat and raising her hands up to her mouth, blowing it outwards.

“Oh my god, how-”

“Dragonfire,” Emma says, “because that’s a thing. Apparently, I’ve got a dragon ancestor. Your mom explains it a lot better and, uh…” Emma trails off, realising that this situation is kind of weird. A young Emma had been friends with Lily, younger than her even – and now, Emma is older and dragon-married to Lily’s mother, wanting to take a teenage Lily to the future to what? Grow into an adult under Mal’s care? Mal and _Emma’s_ care? Mal, Emma and _Regina’s_ care?

“I don’t understand,” Lily admits. “You’re… _Emma?_ But what about just now? What she- what you said?”

Emma shrugs awkwardly, barely even knowing what she said. “I mean…I meant it. I did. That was a long time ago for me, though. I’m thirty. How old are you, even? Sixteen?”

“I’m seventeen in February.” Lily says, before edging closer. “Can you show me another trick? Or tell me something else, to prove you’re from the future? Who’s the President?”

“A guy called Barrack Obama and he’s black,” Emma says, snapping her fingers for effect as she shorts out the lights in the bus stop. Lily makes a shocked noise – though whether it’s over the lights or the President is debatable. Then she realises something else about the future that she’s brought with her, outside her own head. Reaching into her back-pocket, she takes out her phone, holding it out. “Check my smartphone out.”

“Smartphone?”

“Future phone, kiddo,” Emma grins, Lily taking it gently, flipping it over and back, checking out the case before pressing the buttons, jumping as it lights up to show her home screen – a picture Emma knows is of her in the diner with Henry.

“Who’s that?” Lily questions.

“My son,” Emma smiles to herself fondly, strangely happy that she gets to tell her old friend about having a kid – even if said old friend isn’t the older version she would have expected, otherwise. “Henry Mills.”

“What’s his dad like?”

“He doesn’t have a dad,” Emma shakes her head. “Neal died. He’s got another mom, though – her name’s Regina. She’s the Evil Queen I was talking about, actually. Her and your mom are old friends.”

“What?” Lily questions, confused.

“It’s a long story,” Emma shrugs, pausing as she goes to take her phone back. “Actually, do me a favour. Look at the date underneath the time, on that screen. What does it say?”

“…no way. But- but that’s _two thousand and fourteen!_ ” Lily exclaims, before giving Emma her phone back. “My mom’s really there in that town, in the future?”

“Yeah. Want to go?” Emma questions.

“If my mom’s there, then definitely,” Lily says, before Emma takes out the Black Fairy’s wand again, holding her hand out for Lily to take. Once her hand – her cold, small hand – is wrapped firmly in her own, Emma summons a portal, aiming for Regina’s back yard once again. Lily squeezes her hand tight at the sight of the orange-gold maelstrom.

“Let’s go,” Emma says, before pulling Lily through, keeping a firm hold of her hand up until the moment they’re thrown out onto the grass. For once, Emma doesn’t fall, managing to stagger on two shaky legs, feeling her bonds with Regina and Mal snap back into place. The bright sun shines down on them balefully and Lily rolls on the grass, squinting before laughing happily, giggling.

“We just travelled through space-time!”

“Yep,” Emma says, offering the teen a hand. Lily takes it, allowing Emma to haul her up before she gapes at Regina’s house.

“Woah…are you rich in the future?”

“This is Regina’s house,” Emma shakes her head, “I need to get my own place, soon, actually. My parents have a new baby and to be honest, the loft was stretched with four people.”

“Parents?” Lily questions, brushing grass off her maroon trousers and jean jacket. _Product of her time,_ Emma thinks. _I can’t wait to get her a phone of her own. The internet is going to blow her mind._

“I’ll get Henry to tell you the whole story. He’s got a book on it all,” Emma says. “But yeah, parents. Long story short, they gave me up so I wouldn’t be trapped under the Dark Curse, which is what Regina cast to bring everyone here. Anyway…”

“Emma?” comes Regina’s voice, the back door to the house opening. Emma looks over, seeing the Regina-shaped smudge stalking towards her, Mal at her back in light grey clothes, a drastic change from the black glitter dress. “Emma, what the hell? Where did you go? And who is this girl?”

Emma makes a face as Regina’s anger becomes particularly palpable, infused with as much worry as Mal feels – Mal, who reaches out with her magic to inspect Lily, suddenly becoming oh so confused.

“You found her,” Mal says, breathless. “You found her.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, going over to her, taking one of her hands as she stares at Lily, dumbstruck. “Went time travelling. I knew her when I was a kid. Took a little bit of research, destroying the timeline and all that, but yeah – I found her. Guys,” Emma glances at Regina, remembering _Daniela_ , Lily’s alternate self, who Regina claimed as her daughter, “this is Lily. Lily, meet Maleficent and Regina.”

“…hi,” Lily says, shy. “Are you my mom?”

Emma doesn’t quite expect the sudden torrent of emotion from Regina – the shock, embarrassment and the speechlessness, her stuttering audible as she tries and fails very badly to get words out. Mal, meanwhile, is slightly afraid. It’s something Emma doesn’t expect, but things become clear as Lily keeps talking.

“You look like me,” Lily says, almost to herself. _Oh,_ Emma thinks, knowing a stark difference between Lily and Maleficent is the black vs. blonde hair thing – a difference that Regina doesn’t share, when it comes to Lily at least. _I didn’t exactly point to either of them during introductions, either._

“Uh,” Emma coughs, “this is Maleficent.” Emma motions to Mal, correcting Lily’s assumption.

“…right! Uh, sorry,” Lily says, embarrassed.

“No, it’s…it’s fine,” Regina says, stepping back and grabbing Emma’s arm. “A word.”

“Alright,” Emma says, barely having time to squeeze Mal’s arm before Regina drags her off into the house. “What is it? You seem pretty riled up.”

Regina _feels_ riled up. There’s a thrum of adrenaline that Emma can’t help but piggyback off, heart-rate rising to accommodate.

“She looks like me,” Regina says, leading her into the kitchen before moving away from her to pace. “How could I have been so stupid? I’m the _only_ one it could be, in that time-frame!”

“What are you on about?” Emma questions, baffled. “What does it matter that she looks like you?”

“I forget you don’t know these things,” Regina mutters, before facing Emma. “Magic, Emma. Magic is a powerful thing and like in any other craft, accidents happen. In this case: Lily.”

“…okay?” Emma frowns, not really understanding.

“Magic is life,” Regina says, flustered. She’s embarrassed, panicked – but also in awe. “Emma, in the Enchanted Forest, two witches can have children together.”

… _what._

“Say that again,” Emma blinks in disbelief, straining to see smudge-Regina better, even though honesty is radiating off her. It’s all so strange – especially when Emma can feel the low rumble of hurt and anger from Mal, probably as she explains to Lily why they were ever separated.

“Witches can have children together,” Regina says, “without men. I think Maleficent had our baby- daughter, had our daughter.”

Emma processes the things she’s hearing, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, now things are making a lot more sense,” she says, remembering Regina’s alternate self – how she claimed that Daniela was theirs, Mal and Regina’s. Emma had thought Daniela was her step-child, or something, not that Daniela was _biologically_ Regina’s child.

“What makes sense?” Regina asks.

“Getting Lily here – it wasn’t without trial and error,” Emma explains. “I went back to stop my parents ever getting their hands on her, at first, but when I came back to the future, Storybrooke didn’t exist. You’d never cast the Curse and everyone was still in the Enchanted Forest. I went there to check, to see if my alternate self could tell me what went wrong with saving Lily.”

Regina takes a step closer. “What happened?”

“I showed up at my ninth birthday party in your castle, because my alternate self and Princess Daniela were best friends,” Emma says, feeling a rise in complex emotions from Regina. “In that timeline, I think Mal came to you with her, when she was born – you raised her together. You were married to Mal and everything.”

“That future-” Regina sucks in a breath. “That future is gone now, obviously. You let her be taken.”

“I had to,” Emma says, feeling guilty. “None of this existed- _Henry_ didn’t exist. I let Lily get taken, but only because I realised that I knew her, when I met my younger self and Daniela. It must have been fate. Lily has a birthmark in the shape of a star on her wrist – it’s how I knew they were the same people without being able to see them. I knew Lily growing up. We were…we were friends, for a little bit.”

“Friends?” Regina questions, “That girl out there- that girl out there, Lily, is your friend?”

“Lily is a dragon. I think I actually woke up her dragonfire by accident,” Emma purses her lips. “But yeah. I picked her up after the last time we met, after I told her to go away and shit like that. She’d just- _she_ has just ruined a younger Emma Swan’s life. Stuff happened and she was involved in a store robbery and she stole my foster-family’s vacation money and I ran away, after it all went down. It- it wasn’t good.”

A hand on her shoulder. Emma doesn’t have to see to know it’s Mal, her arm slinking down to wrap around her torso, Lily tentatively completing their little semi-circle, standing between her mother and Regina.

“I- I’m sorry, I really am, Emma,” Lily says quietly, voice shaky.

“Don’t worry about it anymore, kid,” Emma replies at just as low a volume. “I’m just glad you’re alright now, as an adult. You went through a lot of shit.”

“You’re welcome to stay here in Storybrooke with all of us,” Regina says, all parental and non-judging. “Mal is staying here with me, so you can take the guest bedroom as your own, if you want to. This can be your home if you want it.”

“Thanks. I…I just want to know my mom,” Lily says, shuffling. “How many guest rooms do you have?”

“Two, though one is more of a storage room right now,” Regina says calmly. “Why?”

“Because- because, well…” Lily trails off and Emma has a brief sense of foreboding. “Emma says she has a son with you. Are you lesbians?”

Emma jolts, immediately exclaiming, “No!”

Pique. “Very nice answer, Emma. Quick to the mark.” Regina says, slightly acidic. _Thank-you for that, I’m not offended whatsoever,_ her voice slinks across their bond. She speaks to Lily, “No, Lily. However, Emma and your mother are a different story.”

“Like you can talk – you and Mal are the same!” Emma starts, frowning before she remembers their new handy trick is telepathy. She focuses, _why would you be offended? We aren’t together – and anyway, I’m bisexual, not a lesbian_. Licking her lips, she speaks out loud, so Mal can hear. “This is actually really weird. I feel like we should talk more about…us three.”

“Not in front of Lily,” Mal says, looking to her daughter. “No offence, dear, but it’s a private matter.”

“You’re my mom. Isn’t there some kind of rule about kids having a say in who gets to be their step-parent?” Lily questions.

“Good point,” Emma adds, “Also, this is dragon-related and she’s a dragon.”

“Emma,” Regina starts, “This isn’t the time.”

“When will the time be, then?” Emma demands, annoyed. “There always seems to be some new disaster every day, new problems and more things for us to fix. I literally just spent the last hour changing the timeline again so we could have Lily here with us.”

 _We didn’t ask you to do that,_ Regina snaps through their link, clenching her fists. _Like you, I need to talk to Mal – but Lily shouldn’t be part of that conversation or this one._

_Why shouldn’t she? She’s nearly seventeen._

_Age is only part of the reason._ Regina purses her lips, before speaking out loud. “Lily, are you hungry?”

“…yeah,” Lily obviously feels the tension in the room, tone cautious.

“There’s a diner called Granny’s in town.” Regina takes her phone from her pocket, walking over to a cookie jar, opening it up and taking out- _are those dollar bills?_ Emma squints, trying to see. “I’m going to get my son, Henry, to meet you there. Emma, where’s Henry’s Book?”

“The Book?” Emma blanks for a moment, before remembering it was in her bag. Summoning it, Emma’s lip twitches at how Lily jumps back. She holds it out to Lily, who takes the satchel tentatively.

“In there,” Regina starts, “is the Book that holds our stories. Henry can explain why it’s important and as bad as it sounds, keep you distracted while we talk. I’ll text Henry to say when you both should be back by.”

“But I don’t know where I’m going,” Lily says, worried.

“It’s alright, dear,” Regina hands her some money, “You don’t need to.” Then, she twirls her wrist, Lily disappearing in a swirl of purple smoke.

At the same moment, Mal becomes very tense, on edge. “Where did you put her?”

“As I said, there’s a diner in town. The proprietor won’t let anything happen to her, have no fear. Henry will meet her there for milkshakes.” Regina sighs, cricking her neck. “I’ve asked him to give her a run-down on the Curse and what happened, so she knows the position we’re in. As bad as it sounds, Henry has been a core cast member in multiple disasters and incidents over the years. Let’s just hope that Lily doesn’t mind the impromptu teleportation.”

“ _I_ mind it,” Mal snaps, arm leaving where it sits at Emma’s back. “She’s my daughter and I _just_ got her back.”

“Which is why you need a moment,” Emma mutters, Mal’s fiery gaze turning on her. “You’ve had a big shock. Cry, do whatever you need. I was serious though, about talking. You’re magically linked in a more-than-marriage dragon mating…thing, with the other two people in this room.”

“You should get together, make it simpler,” Mal immediately says. Emma feels herself flush as crosses her arms, clearing her throat.

“Regina and I are just friends.”

“You could be more,” Mal prods, before Emma feels a strange kind of… _agreement_ from Regina. Emma swallows, reaching along her connection with the witch, feeling Regina’s magic doing the same thing. They entangle briefly, Emma relaxing slightly. “See?”

“Emma and I have a complicated relationship,” Regina murmurs. “It’s not that easy.”

“I beg to differ,” Mal replies. “I’m bound to both of you, remember and you already have a marriage bond – it’s just accepting it.”

“…wait, what?” Regina starts, Emma blinking.

“We have a marriage bond? What- no-”

“It’s very easily spotted,” Mal hums, “Though perhaps I’m mistaken. How _were_ you bound together, in any case?”

“There was a- a thing and it was draining Regina’s magic,” Emma says, “I stopped it.”

“Your magic basically ploughed into mine like a crashing steam-train,” Regina says, frustrated and panicked again. “Quite the accident. Enough of us though – what about you? What about Lily? I was talking to Emma and it’s _very_ clear that Lily had the right of it to say she looked like me.”

“I would have told you,” Mal immediately starts, fear blossoming through her and Emma, both. “But I lost her. I couldn’t tell you back then, Regina, not when you were so lost and hurt.”

“Holy shit,” Emma mutters as Regina hugs herself, floored by the truth.

“So it’s true. Lily’s mine?”

“Of course she is, Regina,” Mal says softly.

Emma, at this point, reaches out to put a supportive hand on Regina’s arm, not expecting the teary laugh that comes next.

“I have a _daughter_. Emma, I have a daughter!”

“It’s great, Gina,” Emma pats her arm, blinking back tears as Regina’s emotions bleed through their bond. Them, plus Mal’s positively _fuzzy_ domestic bliss, it’s a little overwhelming for the poor Saviour. “You’re both going to make me cry, with these connections, you know. _God_.” She wipes at her eyes, unable to stop herself from smiling.

“My favourite people,” Mal repeats her earlier statement, before Regina move closer, reaching up to kiss the dragon straight on the lips. The bliss shared is overwhelming to Emma and she leans back against the island counter, wondering if this- this feedback loop is going to reduce her to a puddle every time this type of emotional high happens.

“Thank-you for being honest with me,” Regina says to Maleficent.

“I would never lie to you about her parentage, my queen,” Mal says, which is all types of endearing. Emma snickers.

“Something funny, Emma?” Regina questions, but there’s far from any negative emotion attached, the woman too happy to be anything else but joyful.

“Well, _my queen,_ ” Emma mimics, “you tell me. Aren’t you some kind of empress, anyway?”

“Just a very powerful queen,” Regina says, before reaching out, moving closer. Emma abruptly finds herself pressed against the island table, Regina moving her hands up her thighs, over her hips and waist, skirting up across her arms before lowering them, taking each of Emma’s hands tightly, pressing them against the table. “Mal is quite right, you know. Our problems could be solved easily…”

“Right,” Emma breathes, because Regina just said that in her Fuck Me voice, low and tempting. “I get it. Yeah. I do. I just…the idea is a little weird, to me. I mean, Mal’s like…dragon-married to us both and you’re just…”

“What am I, Miss Swan?” Regina questions, slipping up – and Emma doesn’t mind it, not one bit.

“You know,” Emma starts, feeling a thrum of arousal from both bonds and _god_ , she was right about that feedback. “You know, when I first arrived in Storybrooke, I thought you liked women. You’re kind of proving my point right now.”

“As you said before,” Regina starts to lean away, their hands disentangling. “I’m bisexual, not a lesbian.”

Regina pulls away and Emma is left wanting.

 _You bitch,_ Emma thinks at her unfairly, before stepping forwards, hands coming up to cradle Regina’s cheeks-

A blast of magic flows through her, like rot and disease, the smell of rotten eggs polluting the kitchen. Beneath her hands, Regina disappears and their bond becomes muted. Emma stumbles forwards, finding Mal in front of her, their magics reaching out, both trying to find Regina, who has disappeared into thin air.

“What the hell was that?” Emma exclaims. “Where did she go?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Mal says, horror prominent. “But that smell – that’s the smell of the Underworld, of Purgatory where I go when I’m slain.”

“The under-what? She’s in _hell?_ ” Emma grasps at Mal’s grey coat, a blazer she’s borrowed from Regina. “Regina’s dead?”

“No, no, she’s not dead. She’s been taken. Regina has been taken.”

“We have to get her back.”

Lips press against hers – lips that had pressed to hers before, when they exchanged fire and bonded, mated. Lips that Emma hadn’t expected to kiss today, no. _Regina, where are you?_ She throws it across their bond, but the thought fades and the message doesn’t go through.

Mal raises one hand, pressing it to her cheek. “We will get her back, my darling. I promise you that. We will get her back.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wherein Emma completes her deal, Elsa and Anna are reunited, Rumple makes a trip to the Underworld and Henry and Lily are in for a surprise.
> 
> (a/n, we're coming up to ch10/100k now and this is far from finished, so...yeah. this ride is going to be good.
> 
> and if you want some more time travel/alternate universe shenanigans, go check out my other new fic for ouat 'we remake the skies'. it's got regina-as-roni, wish realm henry and some bonus redqueen and swanqueen for you to enjoy, bc roni and wr henry end up in another universe post-The Cricket Game with some new twists and turns for ya.
> 
> but yeah, 'a reordering' is far from finished, so enjoy this chapter and remember to leave a comment if you liked it or have any questions at all!)

Henry watches his grandpa’s truck drive off down the road, waiting until it turns the corner before looking both ways and rushing across the street, darting off towards Granny’s Diner. He wonders whether or not Elsa will find her sister – if Anna is safe and alive. _Good thing I was there,_ he thinks to himself, _or Grandpa Gold probably wouldn’t have enchanted the necklace._

A lot has gone on recently and there are loads of new people in Storybrooke. Even now as he walks up Main Street, he can see unfamiliar faces. Storybrooke is supposed to be his haven of familiarity – the place where people know his name, even if he doesn’t know theirs, just because he’s the son of the Evil Queen and the Saviour. It’s a jarring sensation to have someone look at him and not know who he is – and it’s not at all like New York, where he was a stranger surrounded by a hundred thousand other strangers, either.

Speaking of New York, Henry takes his phone out of his pocket as it _plinks_ , a message from Jamal popping up on his screen.

**_When r u coming back to school?_ **

Without stopping, Henry texts back. **_I’m not. We moved to Maine._**

Jamal’s reply is instant. **_WHY?_**

Henry does stop, then, pausing on the sidewalk. Jamal had only become his friend recently – Henry had hung out with Aisha, Parker and Li when he first started school in Manhattan – but Jamal liked comics and games, like Henry did. He’d actually given Henry his old Xbox 360, after he got the new model in black.

 ** _Is it a secret?_** Jamal questions, sending three more texts in quick succession.

**_Are you staying in Maine forever?_ **

**_Do you have internet set up so we can play Xbox?_ **

**_Li’s sister is letting her play Wizard Wars with us on her console bc they have to share a room now so she’ll be online tonight._ **

Henry blinks, typing rapidly. **_What? Since when did Hua let Li on her console?_**

**_Since Li started sharing a room with her. It’s different when you share rooms. It’s shared space, not You Space. So ur not coming back then_ **

**_No. Tell everyone for me, please._** Henry texts, before forcing himself to keep walking to Granny’s, seeing a dark-haired figure just up ahead. He expects his mother and for a moment, he’s actually fooled into thinking it’s her, until he actually _looks_ at them and scolds himself for ever thinking it was her. The stranger is wearing a blue jean jacket and maroon trousers, hair plaited over her shoulder. In her hand, she holds onto a satchel, gripping it tightly with two hands, glancing around awkwardly.

Henry quickly looks back to his phone, going to his mother’s last message that he’d gotten inside Gold’s shop.

**_Henry, there’s a girl called Lily who I need you to meet with at Granny’s ASAP. She’s new to everything about Storybrooke and will have the book. She’ll be staying with us from now on, so be nice. I’m giving her money for milkshakes or cocoa. It’s your choice. I love you._ **

Henry looks up at the girl, eyeing the satchel and recognising is as his ma’s, from earlier.

“Are you Lily?” he questions as he walks up. Her eyes meet his and he immediately gets a sense of déjà vu. He puts his hand out. “I’m Henry, Henry Mills.”

“Lily Page,” she says, shaking. “Your mom is- your moms are Emma and Regina, right?”

“Yeah. Ma and Mom. Mom said she gave you money for milkshakes.” Henry says, waiting until she nods before giving her his winning smile, jerking his head to the Diner. “Come on, then. I’ll tell you about Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest. It’s awesome.”

Lily gives him a tremulous smile, “Sure. Tell me all about it.”

* * *

Leaving Emma’s grasp is shocking and stuns her for a moment, before she feels herself collapse into a pile of hay. Arms flailing briefly, Regina forces herself to still, sitting up and assessing her location. Her brow creases as she realises she’s in a stable and she gets to her feet, noting how she’s still in her pantsuit.

“More time travel?” Regina whispers to herself, swallowing her reaction. The stable is very familiar – just ahead, she can envisage Daniel dying on the ground, her mother standing above him with his heart in her hand.

“I’m afraid not, Regina.”

Her eyes slip sideways, to the neighbouring stall where Daniel stands in all his glory. There’s no smile, no twinkle to his eyes and for a cold, frosty moment, Regina thinks this is a trick – an illusion made by someone who never met him, who spied on her and is now trying to dig their claws into her. But when she reaches out, there he is – _Daniel._

“There’s no time to explain,” Daniel says, “Your journey to the Underworld is far from brief, but contacting you took longer than I liked. But I had to warn you.” His hands come up to grip the wooden wall separating them and Regina steps closer, speechless. “Regina, princess, _focus_.”

“How are you here?” Regina whispers, “And what do you mean, _the_ _Underworld?_ ”

Daniel reaches out and cups her face, pulling her closer, pressing their foreheads together. She can see his eyes prick with tears, as if the very motion pains him.

“The Lord of the Underworld has kidnapped you, Regina. He has paid a fair price for it and returned a soul to the Land of the Living, but I fear for you. I watched you sometimes, in the happier place, where I was at peace.”

Regina finally reaches properly, hands grabbing at his rough tunic, holding him tightly. “ _Was?_ Aren’t you anymore?”

“I needed to warn you,” he says and then they’re kissing each other. It’s sweet and gentle, but Regina has to stop it, conflicted and feeling her heart break all over again, because this is the young man she fell in love with, who died in front of her over forty years ago. She’s not the same person and this isn’t _right_ – she shouldn’t be kissing a dead man. “I don’t know why _he_ wants you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Regina says desperately, wiping at her eyes. “I- I just…you’re _here_.”

“You will see me again,” Daniel promises. “But only after a long, long time. I have to go now.”

“No!” Regina tries to hold onto him, but everything fades away and then she’s waking up on a marble floor, staring up at a cave ceiling. _No, Daniel!_ Regina blinks away the after-image of her lost love, the rushing of a river echoing quietly.

“Welcome, Your Majesty. Please, do stand.”

Regina stands up, twisting to stare at a blonde man in a sharp suit. He lounges in a throne, peering at her casually. Regina takes a moment to look around, hackles rising at the sight of five rivers, all glowing brightly with a supernatural magic. However, what truly unnerves her are the nick-knacks – the pool table, the grandfather clock, the world globe and the armchairs. There’s an alchemy station to one side and all around the circle where everything is placed are flags, each red with black designs. It’s only when she sees two crossed torches, the sigil of Hekate, Goddess of Magic, does Regina really take Daniel’s words of _the Underworld_ under advisement.

“You’re Hades,” Regina says to the man – _god._ He grins and raises his arms up in faux-innocence.

“Got me.”

“Why am I here?” she demands, “I didn’t die, I shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh – no, no, Regina,” Hades stands, stepping forwards so they’re closer, leaning in as he speaks to her. “You see, your sister and I, we’re, let’s say…old acquaintances. I wasn’t happy to find out what happened in the past with all this _time travelling._ I was surprised that worked, by the way,” he notes, pointing at her. “Zelena worked hard on that. Shame it was wasted on Emma Swan.”

Regina’s lip curls, “She tried to _erase_ me. Emma did a good thing, going back and stopping her.”

Hades raises his hand, as if saying ‘ _what can we do?’_ “It’s all in the past now – unless you can go into the future, as well, I suppose. Now.” He waves his hand and abruptly, Regina finds herself on her knees, chains pulling at her wrists, holding her down, close to the floor. He leans over her, scrutinising her. “Let’s have some _fun_ , shall we?”

Regina falls back as he punches her. Pain blossoms over her jaw and she forces herself not to make any sound, shuddering. Hades grabs the shoulder of her shirt, pulling her up again, punching her again.

“That’s for making Zelena bleed before your little witchfight,” he hisses.

“She gave as good as she got,” Regina hisses, “You don’t need to _avenge_ her hurts!”

“Oh, but I do, Your Majesty,” Hades says. “I love her very much, you see. But of course, that’s the only physical pain I’m going to make you suffer – you’re still Zelena’s sister. If she wants to hurt you, she can do that herself. I think me causing you some irreparable anguish, however, will impress her more.”

He steps back from her, letting go of her shoulder, twisting his hand again. There’s a dark flutter of power before three plumes of blue fire twist and turn, two to her right and one to her left – the left flaring high and white before dropping down to reveal Daniel.

“Oh, now _that_ is interesting,” Hades says, eyeing the stable-boy. “I had suspicions about who might have crossed over into my domain to see her, but you…now this _is_ precious. Young love, first love – it really is powerful, even if not quite _True_.”

“What is going on?” a familiar voice snaps and Regina looks to where the other two plumes of fire had set down on her right, becoming horrified at the sight of her parents, Cora and Prince Henry struggling against their chains.

“Your Highness, Your Highness,” Hades greets, “You’re here to suffer. Don’t worry, it’s for a good reason. Regina here was being a _bad_ girl.”

“Regina?” her father – her _Daddy_ – looks to Regina, confused as Regina struggles against her chains, trying to draw on her magic and finding herself unable to access it. “Regina, what’s going on?”

“Hades is being an _idiot_ if he thinks torturing you will gain him anything other than my wrath!” Regina glares at the god, who looks at her as if she’s an amusing child. “And you still didn’t tell me why or how I’m here!”

“The how is my business, the why…is also my business,” Hades sighs to himself. “Though, you could probably guess. You took Zelena’s magic, you stripped it from her and she can never get that back, not without some _extremely_ powerful magic.”

“You stripped Zelena of her powers?” Cora gasps, looking to Regina, who refuses to look in her direction, the guilt churning through her. “Such a curse…”

“It was the only option,” Regina mutters. “It wasn’t a good option, but it was the best one. It was either her or Elsa.”

“Yes, Queen Elsa of Arendelle,” Hades says. “Yet another insipid Light witch. But enough talk. I’m going to torture your departed loved ones now, Regina, right in front of you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Regina growls.

Hades smiles, laughing at her, head becoming encased with blue fire.

“Oh, Your Majesty – I’m a _god_. I’ll do whatever I like.”

* * *

Anna’s necklace glows, the magic rising up within it before there’s a flash – a pull. Elsa feels it deep, reverberating through her as the sea swells and a portal twists around and around. She watches it with captivated eyes, seeing the corked bottle bob up and down in the waves. _Anna,_ she thinks, reaching for it, summoning it to hand before there’s another flash from the necklace.

In front of her eyes, the portal disappears to be replaced with a chest spilling water. From it, the lid half torn off from the violent transportation, Anna pulls herself up, followed by Kristoff. The fierce determination – Elsa’s fervent hope that her sister was _alive_ and she would fine her – melts inside her chest, turning to bubbling joy.

“ _Anna_ ,” Elsa practically stumbles forwards, dropping the bottle and then they’re talking over each other, hearing every word the other says, before they embrace each other. Elsa burrows her head into Anna’s shoulder, feeling so very uplifted as she whispers to her in their adoptive mother tongue, the Ørndel words spilling out of her so much easier than _fællis-språg_ does. “ _I have missed you so very much. You don’t know what I’ve gone through to find you again._ ”

“ _Us either!_ ” Anna squeezes her tight, before they release each other, heads knocking gently. “ _Where have you been? What place is this? How did you rescue us?_ ”

“ _I didn’t,_ ” Elsa says, before holding out Anna’s necklace, her sister staring at the star in awe.

“ _My wishing star, of course – that explains everything!_ ”

“ _It does?_ ” Kristoff questions, before blinking in confusion. “ _What are you wearing?”_

Elsa flushes at his question, fidgeting in the Storybrooke clothes Regina had gifted her. Anna’s eyes blow wide, mouth dropping open.

“They were gifts,” Elsa says, forcing herself to speak in _fællis_ - _språg_. “Anna, you wouldn’t believe who is here, what _women_ I’ve met.”

“I’m sure it’s very interesting,” Anna says, staring at her trousers. “It still doesn’t explain why you’re wearing those.”

Elsa rolls her eyes, “It’s the fashion here. Anna, this is _important._ I travelled through time – Emma and Regina rescued me.”

Like Elsa thought, Anna forgets about her eccentric style of dress at the names.

“Emma and Regina?” Anna stares, “Like- like-”

“Yes, like Sir James’ stories. He’s _here_ , Anna – James, a young James.”

“…what are you on about?” Kristoff questions, Anna twisting to face him, hands clasping around his biceps as she explains in her usual hurried, enthusiastic way. Elsa doesn’t watch his reaction, instead picking up the bottle she dropped, using the moment to crack the glass with some well-placed ice magic to reach the message inside.

Letting the broken bottle drop to the ground, Elsa has a moment of paralysing fear, for the seal is that of Ørndel’s Royal family. Paying no mind to Anna’s sudden questions about Emma and Regina, Elsa unrolls the letter.

Then, she reads.

_Dearest darling daughters,_

_you need to know the truth about  
why we went to this voyage._

_It wasn’t what we told you._  
I wish we could be telling you  
in person but alas, that does not  
appear possible. Elsa, Anna, time is running out.

 _I do not know if your father and I_  
will ever get back to you  
but I need you to know we  
were so wrong. We were wrong to  
tell Elsa to conceal her powers.  
You must know this. I feel terrible.  
This happened before and I  
cannot let it happen again.

 _Years ago I made the same_  
mistake with my sister Ingrid.  
She, like you, had ice powers.  
I never told you about my  
sisters, Helga and Ingrid. They  
were beautiful and kind and  
Ingrid was so wonderful.  
I was fearful and I let that fear  
guide me. I made the mistake  
of letting Ingrid hide when we  
should have celebrated her for  
how she was. I loved her so much.

 _In this crystal are the memory_  
of my sisters which I stole from  
the people of Arendelle.  
Please return them. My sisters  
deserve to be known. In a  
cave in the north valley, you will  
find an urn that contains my  
sister Ingrid. Please do what I  
should have done years ago and  
release her. She deserves to  
be remembered and more  
importantly like you, Elsa and  
Anna, she deserves to be loved.

 _Your father and I found you both_  
in the arms of your most loyal  
protector. We raised you as our own  
and loved you so very much, so much  
that my heart bursts now from  
thinking of you. Find them, too,  
the family that Sir James told you  
stories of when you were young.

 _Discover those who have lost_  
you, their dearest children,  
as we are now gone to you.  
They may be far away in time,  
but you will stand in the snow  
and ice and you may see them  
again when you are old, that I hope.

 _When you see my sister, please tell her_  
I love her and that I am sorry. Tell  
her I would give anything to take  
back what I did, to hold hands with  
her just one more time as your  
mothers, no doubt wish for you both.

_All my love, Mama._

“Mother,” Elsa whispers, Anna pressing up against her, reading the letter too. “We have to find her. I was in that urn – not her. Our aunt Ingrid.”

“Adopted aunt?” Kristoff murmurs, almost to himself but not quite.

“Our aunt,” Anna says, agreeing with Elsa. “We may be strange, time travelling princesses who have to rule Arendelle in the absence of another blood heir, who I suppose won’t be so absent if we _find_ her, but! _But_ , she’s still our aunt. Mother and Father adopted us and we are their children, no matter that our _real_ parents are…nearby.”

“And not together, yet,” Elsa adds. “Regina and Emma haven’t even begun courting yet.”

“…oh my god, what if we prevent our own births?” Anna exclaims, panicking. She turns to Kristoff, frantic. “We could actually do that! We could erase ourselves from reality and- and-”

“Okay, calm down,” Kristoff puts his hands on Anna’s shoulders. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing, I _am_ breathing-”

* * *

They transfer into the pawnshop with haste, hands gripped together tightly. Emma reaches out, feeling Rumple in the back room, tugging at his magic desperately.

“Patience, Miss Swan,” he snaps as he steps out into the main shop, sounding irate. His magic snaps back at hers, too harshly to be just scolding. “I assume you’re here about that strange magic that echoed across town.”

“Regina’s been taken to the Underworld,” Emma says without missing a beat. “Help us find her.”

“How do you know she was taken to the Underworld?” he questions, before Mal speaks, voice low and sugary, annoyance curling in her belly.

“Rumple – how nice to see you again.”

“Maleficent. You’re no longer ash, I see.”

“My mates helped with that,” Mal says, before walking forwards, bringing Emma along with her. “There was a distinct smell. I’ve been to the Underworld before, Dark One – I’m quite sure one of those pesky gods have taken her.”

“‘Pesky gods’? They’re called _gods_ for a reason, dearie.” Rumple says, leaning back against the glass cabinet. “You don’t mess with them, they don’t mess with you.”

“We both know that’s far from true,” Mal says. “We need to retrieve her. Where is the nearest Door in Storybrooke?”

“There are none,” Rumple says and Emma bristles, knowing that he’s lying, dragonfire rearing up like a snake to attack.

“Tell the truth,” she barks, pushing her dragonfire down.

“What’s in it for me?” he questions and Emma purses her lips, wanting to offer him his memories back – but that wasn’t their deal and he’d catch her for cheating it as soon as he took the potion.

“I’ll tell you a secret of dragon magic,” Mal offers and Emma squeezes her hand tightly without meaning to, giving her an incredulous look.

“You’ll _what?_ But those aren’t for-” _aren’t for humans,_ Emma stops herself from saying. She knows very few as it is, however sharing even one of _those_ would be debatable. Dragon magic is powerful and dangerous to them in the wrong hands.

“Hush, darling,” Mal murmurs, “It’s fine. I only give him bits and pieces.”

“Deal,” Rumple then says. “There’s a Door in the park, over the lake. There are the obvious requirements – power to charge the Torches, a will to walk the path, a key and of course, a sacrifice.”

Mal snorts, her disbelief potent. “We’re dragons, we have different rules.”

“ _We?_ ” Rumple questions, before he shifts, magic doing that familiar _thing_ where it reaches out of his body and makes Emma wrinkle her nose at the metaphorical taste on her tongue – it’s annoying, but that’s what acquired magic is like, compared to natural magic, apparently. “How in the world did Emma Swan become a dragon?”

“A hybrid,” Emma corrects, shuffling in place before letting go of Mal’s hand finally, stepping forwards, uneasy. “Listen, we had a deal, in the past. You used a complicated memory potion so you wouldn’t remember me and I-”

“You’re supposed to what? Give back my memories?” Rumple interrupts. “How about this – why don’t _I_ go to the Underworld to retrieve Regina? Seeing as Maleficent wants to ignore Hekate’s Laws by charging through Thanatos’ Door, it might be the better plan.”

“Oh, so you’re helping, now?” Emma raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t be a fool, Sherriff,” Rumple says sharply. “Regina is family, whether I like it or not.”

Emma jerks, “You know?”

“Know what?”

Emma hesitates, before shaking her head. If he hadn’t figured it out on his own, then she wasn’t going to help him. At her silence, Rumple makes a noise of annoyance before continuing.

“Regina is the mother of my grandson and Doors can be dangerous if their locations are known by the wrong people. You’d have countless people trying to retrieve their loved ones and getting lost in the process – few know the true price of what they want to do.”

“Alright,” Emma wipes her hands on her jeans, feeling nervous. “Alright. So, you want to go through these Doors to get Regina? Do you need help?”

“I do not, no, but you might,” he states. “Regina was taken, you say – but there are few ways that even a god can transfer mortals between the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead. The most likely was an exchange, one life for another. If so, then there is a newly revived person walking around Storybrooke, someone who would agree with using Regina as their ticket upwards.”

“That’s a long list,” Emma mutters, taking out her phone from her pocket before awkwardly putting it back. “Do you mind telling David that, before you go?”

“Having trouble, dearie? The eyes – they’re quite noticeable.”

“She’s aware,” Mal cuts in, hand coming to rest on the small of Emma’s back, defending her. Emma wonders if it’s because she can feel how Emma shrinks at his words, sensitive about the comments everyone has been making recently when they see her. “Do you care if I use your potions laboratory?”

“Keep is clean and replace what you can,” he replies. “And _don’t_ reorganise anything. I have a system.”

“Your system is shit,” Emma immediately says, “You wouldn't know a proper system if it bit you in the ass.”

“…and how would you know that?” he mutters, affronted, but far from denying it. “What exactly was our deal?”

“That I remind you to make the memory potion antidote you’ve been putting off,” Emma replies.

“Do you know what kind of potion I took?”

“Well, yeah, uh…” Emma thinks, squeezing her eyes shut. Trying to remember is hard though – she learnt these things so long ago and book learning was never a skill of hers. “I…I can make the antidote,” Emma eventually says, opening her eyes, “I know which one you need, I just don’t remember what either are called.”

“That’s useful,” he says shortly, before the shop door opens, the bell chiming. “Ah, Jamie. Help Miss Swan – she’s going to be brewing a potion in the back room while Maleficent and I have a little chat.”

Emma twists slightly, seeing the gangly outline of the boy, who is no longer in his bright orange shirt and apron but instead what looks vaguely like…a suit?

“What are you making, Sherriff?” Jamie questions her, sounding surprised.

“An antidote,” Emma says, before jerking sideways into Mal as he loops his arm through hers, grinning with teeth at Mal, who growls slightly. “Uh, what?”

“Come on, then,” he says, pulling her away from Mal. “That dragon lady has always tried to scare me, it never worked – she was too cuddly to me as a kid, honestly.”

“You know Mal?” Emma questions in surprise as he leads her into the back room.

“Yeah, she liked my dad’s library. I think she liked watching Regina, too, in retrospect. She taught me how to read dragon runes.” Jamie says, before unlooping his arm from hers. “I can write in dragonscript, too, though it’s Northern and Southern in dragonscript, so…not Dragontongue, but _Dragonish_. What ingredients do you need?”

Emma blinks, before forcing herself to remember the recipe, listing the ingredients and getting stuck on the second-to-last.

“It’s like bark, but it’s gooey and it’s easy to get it mixed up with-”

 “Oh! Oh, I know what you’re on about! It’s red and it goes purple when it’s wet-”

“Yes! That!” Emma crows in agreement, using Jamie as her helper as she preps the ingredients, listening to him chatter away about things that had happened at Granny’s Diner and in the Enchanted Forest when he was a boy. At one point, Mal pops in, kissing Emma’s cheek gently and murmuring in her ear.

“I’m going to this Diner to see Lily and yours and Regina’s boy. I cannot bear to be away from her again.”

“That’s fine,” Emma whispers back, wiping her hands with a nearby wet cloth she’d placed down strategically just before and bringing her hands up to Mal’s shoulders, using them as anchors to kiss her, their lips pressing together gently. When they part, Mal feels content.

“We should do that more often, now that I remember and you are no longer in denial.”

“It was complicated,” Emma shrugs, hyper-aware of Jamie silently watching them, listening to them chat. “Later? I’ll meet you at the Diner after I’m done, we can get dinner at Granny’s then take the kids home to Regina’s and…and explain what happened. Hopefully there isn’t a dead guy running around fucking things up, either.”

“We can just ignore them, if they are, or burn them to a crisp,” Mal says reassuringly, making Emma smile a little, shaking her head.

“I’m the sheriff – it’s my job, even if I’m going to have to change up how I do things. I’ll see you later, then?”

“Later,” Mal promises, before kissing her again, tongue darting out to tangle with hers briefly before she pulls away. Emma feels a rush of her magic, before the dragon disappears, leaving her alone in the back room with Jamie once more, Rumple puttering about in the front for a moment before he, too, leaves.

“Back to the potion?” Jamie questions.

“…yeah. Back to the potion,” Emma nods.

* * *

When the potion is finished, Emma hands off the potion to Belle, who had taken responsibility for it rather than Jamie, much to the teen’s annoyance. Emma leaves them to squabble good-naturedly over it as she transports herself away, back to Regina’s house rather than the diner. Potioneering is far from clean and she has no desire to show up at Granny’s smelling like toad spleen. After a shower and a change of clothes, Emma goes to the Diner, finally, walking up the path to the door and entering, pinpointing Mal in the busy diner with ease.

Ignoring the other patrons, Emma slides into the booth beside Henry opposite Lily and Mal.

“Hey,” she greets, ruffling Henry’s hair. “How’s the story going?”

“I told Lily about our story all the way up to Neverland,” he says, “Maleficent came in when I was talking about you breaking the Curse.”

“Great,” Emma leans over him and the Book to get menus, passing them out, belatedly remembering that she and Regina had agreed not to let Henry read it anymore. _It needs adult content warnings,_ she thinks, wincing. “We’re getting dinner here tonight.”

“What about Mom?” Henry questions. “Is she coming?”

“No,” Emma says. “She had to go into her office. There was a minor emergency, I don’t know what.”

“Should we get her something to go?” he asks, making Emma feels somewhat guilty for lying to him.

“She said she wasn’t hungry,” Emma says, before squinting into the crowd, trying to pinpoint Ruby. It’s hard though, with how crowded everything is and how many other waitresses are about, wearing the same uniform. Anxious over Regina’s fate – _where is she? How is she doing? Is she okay?_ – Emma doesn’t expect to feel Mal’s foot to brush over her ankle, the dragon sharing a sense of calm with her.

It’s not Emma’s day, however, because as soon as Emma begins to relax, her parents approach.

“Emma!” her mother calls, pushing a stroller. Immediately, Mal’s ire rises. “Emma, why… _how_ are you sitting with Maleficent? Didn’t you…”

“Death isn’t permanent, when it comes to dragons,” Mal says, voice silky-soft. “How are you, Snow White? Motherhood treating you well? I’ve finally reunited with _my_ daughter, too.”

Emma reaches out, grasping Mal’s hand. “Hey, do you want to go?”

“Emma, what is this?” David questions, cautious. “Why are you sitting with her?”

“Why did you kidnap Lily?” Emma shoots back, abruptly remembering that she ordered pizza. _We don’t have to stay here,_ she thinks in relief. “That’s an actual question, by the way. Why?”

“It- it wasn’t what we thought,” Snow says, voice quiet, panicked. “The Apprentice- he sent her away. She fell through a portal with Cruella and Ursula, just as she was hatching. We tried to save her, but it was too late – we didn’t know he was going to do that.”

“Why did he want me?” Lily questions, hurt easily audible. Emma clenches her jaw, feeling Mal’s sorrow and her anger, too.

“I’m so sorry,” Snow gasps, voice thick with tears. “I didn’t know. _We_ didn’t know. Are you okay?”

“No, no, I’m not,” Lily says. “My life was _shit_ and dark and the _only_ time I was happy was when I was with Emma. Everything was _wrong_ and nothing I did made it any better.”

“Emma?” David startles, “You knew Emma?”

“We were friends,” Emma says, not looking at them, still holding Mal’s hand. “We kept running into each other. Call it destiny, if you like. Even in an alternate timeline, we were best friends.”

“Really?” Lily questions. Emma smiles a little, remembering young Emma and Daniela, with their matching stars.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t understand – how are you here, then? You should be the same age as Emma,” Snow says, “You’re only a few months older.”

“Time travel,” Henry fills in, “Ma rescued her. She’s from the nineties and doesn’t know what a smartphone is.”

“That’s because satellite phones are ginormous boxes or flip-phones, where I’m from,” Lily says, before correcting herself, “ _when_ I’m from, I mean.”

“The Apprentice switched your potential for darkness,” Snow then says, extremely short. “He took your potential for light and gave it to Emma and Emma’s dark and gave it to you.”

Emma blinks. _What does that even mean?_ She directs her confusion at Mal, who had stiffened as soon as Snow started speaking.

“Snow,” David chastises, hissing.

“No, Charming,” Snow puts a hand on his chest, “It was our mistake. We at least owe them the truth.”

“What does that even mean?” Emma questions, annoyance bubbling in her chest, dragonfire warming her hands hot. She forces herself not to touch the table in case she burns it.

“It means,” Mal starts, voice deceptively low, “that the Apprentice dabbled in the essences of each of your souls and tore parts of you away, giving them to the other. You don’t have dragon ancestry, Emma. When I found you on that mountain, dying, a _dragon_ to my eyes, you had finally awoken Lily’s soul inside of you. Brushes with death do that, sometimes, when such horrible magics have been enacted.”

“What- _what?_ ” Emma balks, unable to process.

“What does that mean for me?” Lily questions, hesitant. “If that’s why Emma’s a dragon-”

“Emma’s not a dragon,” David denies. In answer, Emma deliberately snorts a bit of fire out her nose, causing him to jump back. “How did you do that?”

“Dragon magic,” Emma says shortly, before shaking her head, reaching out her magic to her son, to Lily and to Mal, wrapping them up and transporting the four of them away, back to Regina’s house. _Regina, I hope you’re alright, I hope Rumple finds you._ Henry wobbles as they reappear, but it’s Lily who falls flat on her rump. Emma offers her a hand, Lily taking it silently so she can haul her up.

“I told you we were connected,” Lily says after a long beat. Emma goes to reply, only for the doorbell to chime. “I’ll get that.” Lily slips away, going to the door. When it opens, Emma hears the pizza girl and she speaks quietly to Henry, knowing Lily has money on her to pay the girl – it’s not like she had any chance to spend that foster-family’s holiday fund, after all.

“Henry, can you go get us some plates?” Emma asks her son, who nervously agrees, scurrying off, the Book in hand. Left alone – relatively – with Mal in the entrance hall, Emma puts out a comforting hand, not expecting Mal to shrug it off. “Hey. I didn’t- I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t, darling, but it doesn’t make it any easier to process. Lily has more human in her than dragon,” Mal says, voice blank. Emma can feel her though, almost mixing up her own feelings with it. Mal is angry, confused, hurt and devastated – but she’s also relieved. Emma takes a leap of faith, coming closer and hugging the woman tightly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Mal hugs her back, clutching her desperately.

“What has she been through? Why did she say her life was so terrible?”

“Because it was,” Emma murmurs, “and this stuff is probably why. Can we fix it?”

“It’s too late,” Mal whispers. “You were both the unborn when it happened. There’s no way – especially considering how you’re a dragon now, in truth. You’re unique, not even a hybrid.”

“That makes _everything_ easier,” Emma mutters sarcastically, before parting from the hug, making her way to join Lily at the door. Funnily enough, she’s just in time to hear Lily successfully getting the pizza girl’s number. “That was quick,” she notes, leaning against the doorframe, taking the pizzas.

The pizza girl scuffs her trainer against the step, obviously nervous. “I don’t have a pen, though.”

“Here,” Emma summons one, giving it to the dark-skinned girl. She elbows Lily lightly. “I’ll get you a cell phone ASAP, so you don’t have to use the landline.”

“Thanks, Emma,” Lily says, obviously embarrassed, fidgeting with nerves. Emma smirks, before going back into the house with the pizzas, Mal eyeing the square cardboard boxes with suspicion.

“Henry, did you get those plates?” Emma calls.

“Yeah!” Henry says, “Can we watch a movie?”

“With the pizza? Only if you get some paper towel, too – I don’t want to have to explain to your mom why there’s tomato sauce on her couch cushions.” Emma says, before turning towards the living room just as Lily shuts the door, joining them. “Want to watch a movie, kiddo?”

“Can I pick?” Lily questions.

Emma eyes the Lily-shaped smudge for a moment, realising that the young time traveller has missed a lot of movies from her jump through the ages. “Why not let Henry? There’s been a lot of new releases since your time.”

Lily eyes Emma briefly, “Like what? Did _Dragonball Z_ get a remake?”

Emma nearly trips over air. “What?” Swiftly, Emma has a series of flashbacks and forces herself not to cringe. “Oh my god, I told you about that show.”

“You kind of gushed,” Lily says, teasing. Her elbow digs into Emma’s side, before she opens the pizza box, taking out a piece of Regina’s pizza. She eats a bite, eyebrows rising as she swallows. “This is good.”

“You can have it,” Emma says, trying not to show her reaction. _Regina can’t exactly eat it, from the Underworld._ “Henry – pick a movie out, yeah?”

“On it!” her son calls as he comes through, four plates and kitchen roll all piled up on top of each other. He sets them on the pouffe, before lunging down onto his knees, turning on the Xbox and the TV itself, getting up the movie player.

Sitting down in the middle of the sofa, Emma sets the pizzas beside the plates on the pouffe, kicking her shoes off as Mal sits down beside her primly. Lily sits on the other sofa, tugging off her own shoes and her jacket, as well, tossing them behind her before bringing her feet up, crossing her legs as she leans forwards precariously for pizza. Emma looks to Mal, amused by her stiff back.

“This is relaxing time,” Emma informs her. “Take off the jacket and your shoes.”

“Do I have to?”

“You’ll want to, after sitting here for hours on end,” Emma advises, pausing to ask her son as Mal reluctantly takes off her things, “Turn the sound up so I can hear it better?”

Henry chirps an affirmative, grabbing all the remotes and chucking them beside Lily, where he’s obviously chosen to sit. Then, he makes a round of the room, shutting curtains and turning off lights, pausing to check with their guests.

“Are any of you scared of the dark?”

“No,” they say as one, Henry switching off the hall light as well before joining Lily on the sofa.

“Get your choice of pizza, before we start, grab seconds during,” Emma orders, reaching forwards to grab a plate, nicking half a pepperoni and a couple of slices of plain cheese, guided by the colour of the boxes rather than pizza itself from the low light of the TV. Lily, already having gotten a head start, snickers as Henry bemoans the lack of pepperoni left, despite Emma having ordered two – she has to stop him from taking a whole one to himself.

“…it’s strange,” Mal says as she tries a piece of the Hawaiian. “But good. I will have more of this one.”

“You like pineapple on pizza?” Lily questions, distressed, “How are you my mother?”

Henry makes a face, “I’m the same with Ma. She’s weird. It’s _fruit_.”

“Hey!” Emma suppresses the urge to throw food at him, still extremely aware of where they are and how white the sofas are, even in part-darkness and her own blindness. “Play the movie, kid, before I decide if I should get revenge for that comment.”

“You wouldn’t, not here,” Henry says correctly, before playing the movie. Emma is silent, waiting for what should have been commentary from Regina – but she’s not here to put in her own opinion and Mal is silent as she tries each type of pizza on offer, subtly sliding the Mediterranean veg onto Emma’s plate in dislike.

 _I hope Gold pulls through,_ Emma thinks, as she recognises the music and the clicking of Albus Dumbledore using his deluminator to darken Privet Drive. _Come home, Regina, soon._ Mal’s hands sneaks into her own and lips press against her hair in the dark.

“We’ll get her back,” Mal murmurs so quiet that neither Lily nor Henry can hear. Emma looks away from the fuzzy TV that she can’t see anyway, head twisting far enough so their lips collide ever so briefly before she shuffles closer and curves into Mal’s side, leaning on her, head coming to rest on her shoulder.

_We’ll get her back._

* * *

The magic of the Dark One is a… _cheat code_ , Rumple might think the appropriate colloquial term would be, when it comes to certain realms. As it brings the user immortality in some form, being the Dark One makes entry and exit to and from the Underworld without a price feasible. The Door over Storybrooke’s park lake is easy enough to access and once he’s in Purgatory, Rumple is treated to a strange sight – Storybrooke. The air is a certain deathly orange and there are more than a few dark twists, but it is _still_ Storybrooke.

His shop, of course, is inhabited by his dearly departed father.

“Laddie,” Peter Pan greets, fixing the lapels of his suit. “We match.”

“Papa.” Rumple tilts his head, lips pressing into a thin smile. “How nice to see you again. Unfinished business?”

“My unfinished business is none of your concern,” he waves Rumple off, pausing, “Why are you here, Rumple? You’re not dead – I can tell.”

“I’m looking to find Regina,” Rumple reveals, “She’s been taken.”

“…interesting. I’m sure you’re aware that abductions are uncommon, because of the price,” Peter starts.

“A life for a life,” Rumple leans on his cane more out of habit than anything. “Do you know who’s missing?”

“No. I don’t get out much – the rabble aren’t very interesting,” Peter dismisses. “A word of advice: it won’t be someone particularly dangerous. I think someone infamous up and disappearing from Purgatory _would_ reach me, if it were. There is _one_ potential,” he starts, smile flickering into place, “though I doubt the mother would switch with the daughter.”

Rumple nods in agreement, wondering where Cora is. _She can’t be involved in this. She wouldn’t dare bring about her own daughter’s demise._ “It would be have to be someone willing to switch places with the Evil Queen.”

“Aye…” Peter trails off, before questioning him. “Which god do you think is behind it? There’s more than one option, you know.”

“I’m going to assume it’s Hades, until I’ve evidence to suggest otherwise,” Rumple answers. “Do you know how to get to him?”

“And if I did? What’s in it for me?”

Rumple shrugs, “I’ve nothing to give. You owe me enough though, I think – you abandoned me.”

“And you killed me,” Peter snaps. “Why should I help you? It’s enough that your dratted mother is here, making trouble – I hear you killed _her,_ as well.”

Rumple startles. “I beg your pardon? I- I think I’d remember killing my own mother,” he denies.

Peter raises an eyebrow, “I’d beg to differ, laddie. She clearly remembers. Her and I are at odds, luckily enough for you. It’s quite annoying – when I heard her side of the story, we were still no less apart.”

His words are rolling around in Rumple’s head. He can’t pay attention. _I didn’t kill her, did I?_ This – _this_ – must have been something he’s forgotten, something’s he’s made himself forget. _Was Emma Swan there? Is this something I’ll remember when I take that antidote of hers?_

“Rumple,” Peter puts a hand on his arm, meeting his eyes. “Laddie.”

Rumple jerks out of his hold. “Don’t touch me,” he orders. “Unless you have something useful to give me, then I’ll be off.”

“…fine,” Peter says, pursing his lips. “There’s a passageway, but it changes locations. It’ll be somewhere of magical importance, here in this mirror of Storybrooke.”

Locations float through his mind. The well, the town line, the mines – but another appears to mind when considering Regina, popping out in distinction. Rumple nods shortly.

“I have an idea.”

“Good. You won’t be able to get through on your own. You aren’t exactly dead,” Peter says, grinning darkly. “An adventure. How fun. I’ll follow the leader, then – let’s go.”

Rumple rolls his eyes, but for once, he does as he’s told. Leaving the shop, he walks down Main Street towards the graveyard, his father walking along beside him. People scatter slightly at the sight of them together, no-one familiar to Rumple’s astute eye – but apparently, _they_ know _them_. Rumple thinks _we’re infamous_ , stopping short at the sight of Milah herding dead children across the road.

“Your wife, yes?” Peter questions. “We should say hello.”

“No,” Rumple disagrees, waiting until she’s well on her way before continuing. “Where does Mother spend her undying days around here?”

“She prefers hanging around that apartment of Snow White’s.”

 _I’ll be staying far away from there, then,_ Rumple frowns, wondering why – if she knows the living inhabitants of the mirror apartment. Walking in silence, they reach Regina’s mausoleum soon enough, though the larger-than-usual graveyard is interesting. Rumple glances at his father, but the boy is silent as they enter what should have been the entrance to Regina’s Vault.

“Push this,” Rumple orders his father, the two of them moving the stone top swiftly, revealing the staircase down. Tentatively, Rumple taps it with his foot, humming at the barrier. He holds his hand out to his father, who rolls his eyes before taking it, the two of them moving downwards until they’re in the Vault itself, where the surroundings take a sharp turn to reality.

Torches hang against the walls. The two mirrors at either end are gone, replaced with open archways leading to spiralling stone staircases, one of which with a soft yellow glow to it.

“I’d say that one,” Peter points out, “is your ticket out of here.”

“The other would lead to Hades, then,” Rumple turns to the opposing arch, with a greenish cast to the staircase. “Coming?”

“I’ll pass,” Peter shakes his head, “I don’t want you throwing me in Acheron to be lost forever, thank-you.”

Rumple offers a nasty sort of grin, “Shame.” The two exchange a last series of glares, before Peter leaves, going back up the stairs, out of the Vault. Rumple waits until he disappears from sight, still not trusting his own eyes – Peter Pan is dead, after all. He can get back through, if he wishes.

Going down the green stairwell, Rumple finds himself at a dock soon enough, taking a boat across the green river of lost souls, the _Acheron_ that Peter was so wary of. _He had a right to be,_ Rumple thinks, imagining all the ways he could have pushed his father in as he waits until his journey is done. The boat automatically rides along the river to another dock, one which Rumple hopes will lead him to Hades’ lair.

Screams echo from the corridor leading through.

Wary – and quite aware his magic doesn’t work the same, here – Rumple makes his way through, the screams only getting louder. Eventually, the corridor becomes more of a tunnel, heightening and widening until Rumple reaches a cavern, five rivers leading outwards from the stone centre, where he sees not only Regina, but Cora, Prince Henry, the man who could only be Hades and even precious Daniel Colter.

 _He shouldn’t be here,_ Rumple thinks, a sense of foreboding rising within him as Hades straightens, cracking his back to wave at him, blue fire shorting out in his hands.

“Rumplestiltskin, come, join in on the fun.” The Lord of the Underworld greets him far too casually, Prince Henry sobbing on the ground, crackling, weeping burns running up and down his bare back. At the sight of him, Regina collapses slightly.

“Rumple,” she croaks, voice ragged. Unlike her precious father, she’s pristine and obviously victim to a far crueller torture. “Rumple, help us.”

“In a moment, dearie,” Rumple states, walking up to stand behind Cora, cautious. Hades smiles at him. “Why was Regina taken?”

“Right down to business, I see. That’s why I like you,” Hades says, stepping backwards, sitting down on his throne lazily, still smiling. He twirls his wrist, a glass ball full of white-grey smoke appearing in hand. “I called in a favour from Mnemosyne – here, have it. A gift, freely given.” He chucks the ball to Rumple, who catches it with a frown. “Mnemosyne, the Goddess of Memory. I thought it better if we were all on the same page. Just…crack it open at your feet. I give my word on the Styx, I’m telling the truth.”

The blue river lets out an unearthly noise, then and Rumple looks to it, watching – listening – as an echo of Hades’ words rumbles through the cave.

“Don’t,” Cora warns him, but Rumple knows the rules. _The Styx exacts a far more reasonable price upon the sworn than I ever could upon my customers._ Gods swear upon that river and if they break their word, a rightful, just punishment is wrought upon them – the type of punishment to fit the crime, of course, but still more than anything Rumple could inflict upon a god.

The Dark One drops the glass ball at his feet, the smoke swirling around him slowly, rising up and up till it reaches his face, sucking in through his nose and mouth. Almost immediately, he can remember everything – every moment of his life, from birth to present, in every timeline created and among it all, every moment _purposefully_ forgotten.

 _I killed her,_ he thinks, remembering the way his mother’s blood spilled over the dagger and splattered his cuffs. _I murdered her for Emma._

Emma, his apprentice. Emma, who is a sorceress and a dragon, a child of True Love and the Saviour – time traveller and Regina’s protector. Rumple looks at the Evil Queen, the girl who is most likely his daughter, his second-born child.

“Things coming together, now?” Hades smiles, “Good. Now, you’re here for Regina Mills. I’m afraid that I have conditions, if you want her safely returned.”

“What conditions?”

“Zelena,” Hades says, sighing to himself in a forlorn way, “I want her safe. I want her _here_. My very own Pippa- Persephone, sorry. I know the myths get a little confused, up top and of course, we give each other nicknames that you mere mortals aren’t allowed to use for us…but anyway, I want her delivered here. I also want her magic returned to her.”

“Aye,” Rumple agrees, knowing that Zelena’s magic has been taken into that container he collected, so long ago. He keeps his face neutral, despite the mix of petty joy and unease that rises within him. “So, Regina’s freedom for Zelena’s captivity – Cora, Henry and Daniel go free for the return of her magic, too.”

“Of course,” Hades says, smile fading slightly, even as the four captees become so very relieved, again. “You’re the dealmaker. A term for a term. I see why people get so frustrated. I don’t like that, though. You see, I have to work extra hard when it comes to this one,” he points to Daniel. “He invaded my realm, briefly. It’s why he’s here in the first place. If you want me to return him to his promised land, I want something else.”

“If he’s already moved on, then he should just be able to do it again,” Rumple says, not liking this.

“He _invaded my realm,_ ” Hades snaps. “He invalidated his own moving on. He’s my prisoner, not my subject. Yes, Zeus will probably demand him eventually, but my brother is a lazy bastard. He won’t notice for centuries, unless Daniel here is secretly a demigod – spoiler alert, he’s _not._ ”

“Let him go,” Regina demands, snarling.

“Regina, enough,” Rumple says to her, looking to Hades. “What do you want?”

Hades stares at him for a long while, obviously thinking. Silence prevails, prevails and prevails – _until_.

“Emma Swan. The lauded _Saviour._ I want to meet her. She brings Zelena and her magic, not you.”

“So, I’m your broker, now?” Rumple scoffs, “I can’t decide things for Emma Swan and in any case, she has no way to get here – the conditions aren’t right.”

“Blood of one who has died and lived, a full moon, a sacrifice and…oh wait,” Hades pauses, putting a finger on his chin, eyes widening. “You’re not the one who gets to decide, are you? Begone from my realm.”

And then, with a snap of Hades’ fingers, Rumplestiltskin is back in Storybrooke as if he were never gone in the first place.

“…dammit.”

* * *

Henry brushes his teeth extra quickly after the movie finishes and he’s told to get ready for bed. Lily looks at him oddly for it, using a spare toothbrush and the second sink in marble bathroom benchtop, where his mother used to do her own teeth when he was younger.

“What is it?”

“Ma’s not telling us something,” Henry says to her quickly, washing out his mouth. “I want to hear what our moms are talking about.”

“But they’re dragons, what if they hear us?” Lily questions, but she double-times on her own tooth-brushing. Henry waits for her to finish up, reading her intention to join him, the two of them making their way out of the bathroom as quietly as they can.

“They’re still in the living room, I think,” Henry mumbles, before motioning to their feet and then the stairs, going first. “Copy me,” he whispers, using the familiar, non-squeaky route down the stairs, hoping Lily’s extra height doesn’t mean extra weight, meaning extra squeak-factor if he gets it wrong.

However, there’s only two instances of squeakage and frankly, Henry could care less when he hears what Emma and Maleficent are talking about.

“I just worry. What if Rumple can’t get her back? It’s been _hours_ already.”

“Regina will be fine,” Maleficent says, almost soothingly, like the words don’t make all the hairs on Henry’s arms stick up. “She’s probably more angry at her kidnapping than you are.”

Emma snorts, “She’s probably raising hell…god, that’s so ironic. Raising hell – _in_ hell. How do you even survive in the Underworld without being dead, anyway?”

Henry feels Lily’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly, keeping him locked in place as he moves to go forwards. He looks back at her, clenching his jaw at her motions, telling him _wait_ , _shh._

Maleficent and Emma continue talking, not having heard them yet. “The Underworld is a realm like any other. Entry requirements are simply…more selective.”

“How many times have you been there?”

“Enough that I’ve lost count. Slaying dragons is universally a ‘heroic deed’, it seems. The Enchanted Forest is only my second most-recent home.”

“You told me that, back _before_ ,” Emma says, quiet enough Henry has to strain his ears to hear. “When do we tell the kids?”

“If she’s not retrieved by the noon meal,” Maleficent says, calm and steady. “Is that a sufficient enough amount of time?”

“It doesn’t matter. Henry won’t like the fact that we didn’t tell him immediately,” Emma sighs. “Lily’s another story. I mean, she doesn’t even know Regina’s her mother yet.”

 _What?_ Henry blinks, confused, looking back to Lily, who likewise has a confused face. She puts a finger to her lips, another order to be quiet as Henry tunes back in, curiosity rampant. _What does Ma mean?_

“I’ll inform her tomorrow,” Maleficent says.

“…shouldn’t you wait for Regina?” Emma pauses, “I mean, Lily isn’t going to understand. Magic is new to her – that two women can make a baby with it is just…okay, even _I’m_ still processing it. Is it a dragon thing or is it a magic thing?”

“A magic thing, dear,” Maleficent says, laughing slightly. “I forget how young you are, sometimes. Young, naïve, clueless…”

“I’m not _so_ clueless,” Emma objects, before Lily gently tugs Henry backwards. Henry moves, nodding. Obviously, this is new information. Obviously, they need to talk about this between themselves, before confronting their mothers…

_She’s my sister._

Biting his lip, Henry twists, leading Lily back up the stairs, having trouble remembering the steps. He winces as he steps on a particularly loud board completely by accident, misjudging its position, the sound loud and echoing through the house.

Emma and Maleficent stop talking. “Henry?” Emma calls, “Lily?”

“Turn around,” Lily hisses at him, making her way down the stairs, “Emma, I don’t have any pyjamas.”

“Oh, right, just a minute,” she says, Henry following Lily down the stairs into the hallway again, clenching his fists. _She’s not telling either of us that Mom is gone. She’s lying to us._ He looks to Lily – to his sister, _I have a **sister** _ – feeling anger slowly begin to bubble away inside of him. The teen looks back at him, giving him a look.

“Act natural,” she orders him, before Emma pads out of the living room, arms crossed around her chest tightly to keep warm. Lily looks back at her, waiting. “So, why’s Regina not back, then?”

Emma stops, frowning, speaking shortly. “At the town hall. Why?”

“You’re lying to us,” the words burst out of Henry’s mouth, an accusation. “Where is she? Where’s my mother?”

Emma’s face crumples. “You overheard us, didn’t you?”

“And what if we did?” Lily questions, “Everything was fun tonight, Emma, but didn’t you think I’d like to know that my other parent is missing? That’s she’s been _kidnapped?_ Not to mention, I apparently have a little brother, now.”

“I’m not little,” Henry is quick to add, “But yeah. Everything my sister said.”

“Christ,” Emma mutters, looking back to where Maleficent is now walking towards them, coming to stand by Emma’s side, visibly nervous. “Cat’s out of the bag.”

 _Schrodinger’s cat,_ Henry thinks, _we know that the information was in the box the entire time._ “Why did you lie?” he asks. “We weren’t going to lie to each other anymore.”

“I know, kiddo, but it was difficult,” Emma says, pleading. “A lot has happened, one thing after another. I just wanted a break – a break with Regina _here_ , but that didn’t happen. Your grandfather’s getting her back, he swore.”

“That I did,” comes Grandpa Gold’s voice and Henry turns around to see him entering their house. For a moment, hope blooms in his chest and he expects his mother to come around the corner too, but it doesn’t happen and Henry’s heart drops. “Unfortunately, Hades was being capricious. As soon as I arrived, he was naming his terms and conditions for their release.”

“Their?” Emma picks up, coming to stand behind Henry, hand clasping his shoulder tightly. “Who else did he have?”

“Cora. Prince Henry,” Gold says, grim. “Daniel.”

 _Daniel,_ Henry thinks, frowning. _Mom’s true love?_

“Oh no. How-”

“I don’t know how, but apparently Daniel left his heaven to try help Regina and got caught in the process,” Gold cuts in, answering Emma’s unfinished question. “Hades offered me a deal – or rather, _you_ , Princess Emma.”

Emma huffs, “I’m not a princess and since when did you call me that, anyway?”

“A gift from Hades. The Goddess of Memories gave me mine back,” he says. “Thank-you for upholding your end of the deal, Emma, though you still changed time. It’s strange to remember the timeline as it was, especially when Jamie didn’t exist before.”

“Right,” Emma says, awkward. “What was the deal?”

Henry perks up. He watches as his grandfather draws himself up, neck straightening and his chin rising.

“For the release of Regina,” he starts, “he wants Zelena in the Underworld with him. A trade. For the release of his other captives, Hades wants Emma Swan to deliver her and return her magic.”

“Really?” Emma wilts, almost whining. “ _Really?_ Zelena, again, _more_ Zelena hijinks? What did she do now, kill too many people for his liking?”

“No,” Gold gives a half smile, “I think he fell in love.”


End file.
